Dancing with Deceit
by The Fictionist
Summary: AU. Everyone has something they don't like about their job, and most people have some sort of trouble in their relationships and personal life too. What Harry didn't understand was why those problems had to start clashing for him. You get those stories when Tom Riddle grows up with Harry Potter, transforms for the good and Voldemort never exists. This is not one of those stories.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was strange being back in England again.

Harry had spent the last five years abroad, travelling, fighting against the forces of Grindelwald, among other things. Now, at the age of 22, he'd returned to take up a position as an Auror.

The worst part was that even now that he'd avenged himself as best as he could against the wizard who murdered his parents, it wasn't over. Rumours of a new rising dark power were growing, stirring in the shadows, centred on Britain and spreading outwards like a black taint. Rumours of something stronger, insidious, that had crept faceless into the heart of society without knowledge or warning.

Lord Voldemort.

That was all there really was to go on the matter, which wasn't a lot at all to be perfectly honest, but...he'd do his best to deal with it. The worst part was that he'd seen him before, during his Hogwarts days, though he still had no identification.

Just a name. Always that bloody name, it followed him quietly everywhere he went - and, maybe now, he was starting to hunt the shadow down in turn.

Or, rather, he would be if he wasn't stuck at this god awful Ministry party.

Harry plucked at his dress robes, feeling uncomfortable in the stiff material, before smoothing it down and letting his hands clench around the stem of his wine glass instead.

All around him people swirled in splashes of colour and laughter, conversation washing in and out of his ears like a badly tuned radio.

"-another attack, dreadful business, the minister's doing everything he can to deal with it-"  
"-getting old-"  
"-But he's young, isn't he? Potter? Dark Wizard catcher y'know-"  
"-the junior under secretary-"  
"-Riddle-"  
"-Then there's that renegade bloke-"  
"-Shh, don't talk about it-".

It was more interesting than who was dating who, or who was wearing the best dress, he had to say - but, nonetheless, boring.  
He'd spent most of the evening so far catching up with his old friends. Hermione was working as a Wizarding Lawyer, in the department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Ron - who'd joined him on the front line more directly - was also entering the Auror system.

It was strange seeing old faces again.  
He took another swig of his drink, only to pause at a light tap on his shoulder. He turned, before blinking in surprise.

"Tom-my god-what are you doing here?" he asked, not recognising his own voice. It was a little terse, however warm he tried to keep it.

Tom Riddle had been in the year below him at Hogwarts, a Slytherin where he'd been a Gryffindor and, normally, that would mean he had absolutely nothing to do with the other.

The difference was that they'd grown up in the same Orphanage together.

"Harry," the man murmured, offered him a smile. "I heard you were here, and back in England. How have you been?"

"Good...yeah, I've been good," Harry replied, finally managing a smile back, clapping the man's arm. "How have you been? Heard you graduated with straight O's. Can't say I'm surprised."

Riddle laughed, softly.

"Should I be flattered that you kept tabs on me?" he purred. Harry bit his lip, shrugging, shifting his feet. Memories flashed through his head, but he clamped down on them, and some in particular.

"Rumour spreads. You're making quite a name for yourself. Half of what I've heard since I got back has been about you. Junior Under-secretary to the Ministry at your age? Very impressive."

"Why, thank you," Tom smirked. "I do my best."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation, and Harry took another deep sip of his wine, looking around the hall. It was extravagantly done, with a large diamond chandelier and every surface polished until he could have licked the buffet off it without need for a table.

It was so different to what he was used to - what they were both used to, that he couldn't help but feel jealous at how smoothly Tom seemed to fit in. As a child, the boy had been...different, rougher around the edges, sharper. There had always been something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, though the other was charming enough.

They'd never been particularly close; only briefly, like a flash, when Tom got his letter too. Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't exactly have a tendency for closeness and, if the Sorting Hat had almost put him into Slytherin, he would keep that to himself, along with the knowledge of how different everything could have been between them.

It wasn't worth dwelling on.

"You're becoming an Auror, aren't you?" Riddle started again, studying him. Harry's eyes snapped back to the man.

"Uh-yeah. How did you-?"

"You've made quite a name for yourself, soldier," the other drawled. "Heard you've been catching Dark Wizards. What do you think of this Lord Voldemort? Do you think you'll be put on the case."

For a moment, involuntarily, Harry stiffened completely. His throat thickened, bobbed.

"I can't imagine I would be. I'm just a new recruit. We'll all do our bit in the Department, I'm sure, if things develop," he replied, with a careful shrug. "And I thought people didn't say his name around here anyway?" he raised his brows.

Tom's eyebrows arched right back.

"Yes, but you hardly seem the type to obey such things. Nor did you flinch or anything. Don't even try it, Potter."

Harry grimaced, eyes starting to twinkle a bit with good humour, despite the darkness of the topic.

"Yeah, well, I'm not the Junior Under-Secretary to the Minister, am I?"

"Oh, don't judge me on that, please," Riddle waved a hand. "Everyone needs to start somewhere."

"I'm sure you're great at making tea," Harry smirked, teasing, before clapping the ex-Slytherin on the shoulder. "Seriously though, congratulations. I'm sure you'll go far. Don't mind me."

There was a pause in their conversation as a large gaggle of people pushed in between them to get to the punch, and Riddle seized his arm, dragging him closer with a slight smile.

Harry was abruptly aware that he didn't think the man's eyes had moved away from him once during the entire course of their conversation, fixed on his form with a dark intensity, examining everything. He was starting to feel like a lab specimen pinned down for dissection.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation away from the drinks-" the Slytherin began.

"Tom?" someone in the crowd had obviously spotted the other, and now weaved over. "I've been looking for you - oh." The blond, Malfoy, came to a stop, nose wrinkling a little as his gaze moved over Harry. "Am I interrupting?"

"It's nothing!" Harry said, quickly, with another smile. "I just saw someone anyway. You two talk." He looked at Tom, nearly crushed against the other as people moved away from the table again. "It was nice seeing you again."

"I'm certain we'll do so again sometime," Tom murmured, with a smile back, if not a bit crisper than before. "Harry."

"Malfoy," Harry nodded curtly, before darting across the hall. He hadn't actually seen anyone, but with the discomfort of Riddle staring at him and how close they'd ended up, he figured it best to retreat.

Of course, Tom had always been like that, watching him. Over time, he'd forgotten, but now...now he remembered just how much it freaked him out sometimes and why they had never been best of friends. Aside from the fact that Tom was in the year below him and a Slytherin.

His mouth felt dry and he didn't quite know why.

He beelined towards Hermione instead.

Well, it was good to be back?  
He put the matter from his mind.

* * *

Tom Riddle tried not to let his eyes darken with annoyance as he watched the young man sweep across the room. Away from him.

Harry Potter; the name had been playing on his mind for a very long time now.  
When he first met the boy, he'd thought nothing of him, just another stupid child in that stupid place.

That had changed when he was six. The other children were behaving to their normally loathable standard, and, of course, he could have easily taken care of himself with magic (even if he wasn't aware of the very nature of his gifts yet). He'd been about to, actually, to teach them a lesson he was sure they would never forget.

Harry had interceded, only six himself at the time too, leaping at them like a wild-cat of punches and kicks and snarls. The boy had got himself a bloody nose, but his tormentors had backed off of him, at least then, for a while.

Since then, he knew he wanted Harry. He didn't care how he had him, but he wanted him.  
But how?

Naturally, he'd immediately given his gratitude, smiled and looked innocent and teary-eyed. He'd let the older child protect him, look after him - not in the least because it was amazing watching the boy willingly get torn apart by the bigger boys on his behalf. It made him feel warm inside, seeing the pain flash, knowing it was for him.

He was pretty sure Harry didn't remember those days that much, and they'd drifted far apart at Hogwarts.

It hadn't dulled his own feelings though, indeed, it strengthened them.  
Not only was Harry his 'protector', he was like him. He was _special._

Harry, of course, didn't seem to realise how extraordinary he was, how he was made for so much more than the filth he associated himself with.

They diverged; he found the glory and the power of the Darker Arts, Harry lowered himself and stuck to paltry light, repressing that initial violence, that ruthlessness, that power which had drawn him to the other on their very first meeting.

It was a pity.

Harry knew nothing of his feelings, either. All those long years, and the man had never looked at him twice, running off the war instead.

Well, he'd started getting the boy's attention in the end, hadn't he?  
Or rather, Lord Voldemort had.

He suppressed a smirk, concentrating instead on the blond, masking his irritation well. Like he'd told Harry, junior Under Secretary to the minister was just a starting point.

He had a feeling that this was going to be a very good year.

* * *

_A/N: No, I should not be starting a new story. I really, really shouldn't be. Damn my imagination. Well, I'm sure you slash lovers will be delighted. This is indeed Tom/Harry, it is canon. No, to my non-slash readers, this does not make the FF universe, or Solace in Shadows slash, and nor will they ever be. This also doesn't mean SIS and PP are abandoned. They're not. I have half of the new SIS chapter written. Okay, now that disclaimers out of the way..._

_Some explanation: The basic idea is bouncing off the Harry and Tom grew up together plot, and the assumption people make that if he knew Harry from an early age, that Tom would be good, nice and not Voldemort. Well, you know me, I like screwing around with such ideas and my Tom is very rarely nice, fluffy and cuddly. So here spawns this story. It's set after they graduated, as you can tell, because I prefer writing them when they're not children and...yeah. Won't say everything now, but I hope you enjoy it! :)_

_PS: working title. Could change. Chapters will no doubt get longer as I get more into the plot.  
PPS: I apologise for my summary. I'm working on it. Figuring stuff out in my head._

_PPS: Please tell me if I should bother with this. Otherwise I'll channel into SIS and PP..._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

"Harry, are you really sure you should be working this case?" Hermione asked, worriedly. It was the night before his first official day, and his best friend's concern was driving him just a little bit mad.

"As opposed to what?" he growled. "Besides, there might not even be a connection. You don't know that."

"Yeah, cause there are so many creeps going by the way of LV," Ron snorted. "What if there is a connection?"

Harry sighed, burying his head into his hands.

"Then I will be very well placed to track the bastard down, won't I? But I don't think they're the same person."  
Rather, he really didn't want to contemplate the possibility right now. It made his insides squeeze up, especially considering the previous nature of his connection with 'LV'.

It started with small, innocuous things, he didn't even notice it at first - a rose on his pillow which Ron had just snickered at whilst Harry went beetroot, though it was more like some type of guardian angel looking out for him subtly more than anything.

He sort of just hoped it would go away though, it made him a bit uncomfortable, though there was nothing too overt about the affections.

Then it started to creep up a bit in escalation.

He'd broken up with Ginny because of it, the messages. They weren't...threatening, per say, but the sheer amount of possessiveness in it and the obvious ill will towards whoever he was dating was enough to make him shudder.

Even worse, he was amazed and somewhat flattered that someone seemed to love him so...intently, though Hermione had immediately told him to cut out thinking like that because it was unhealthy and the person was quite clearly a violent and disturbed stalker.

After he broke up with her, he received a note of apology for the excessive behaviour which really wasn't an apology at all, and an warded wrist band that was actually quite cool and would have been really useful if he could actually bring himself to wear it.

He was just so bloody thankful it hadn't been a ring.

After that, there was nothing - the whole thing died down completely. Then he went on a date with Cho Chang and she ended up in the hospital. Her face wasn't permanently disfigured, but she'd been in the hospital wing for several weeks as they tried to remove the 'whore' spelling acne off her skin.

Needless to say, he'd stopped dating people after that, and everything had been fine, normal. It was like the whole thing had never even happened. Actually, most people assumed he was gay after that.

It creeped him out horribly though, and he never told anyone about it. Hermione and Ron found out, but he'd pleaded with them to just keep his mouth shut.

And the problem had gone away with that, rather than getting dragged through the mud.  
He just...hadn't wanted the person to escalate and get murderous if an investigation started.

Always the 'LV', at the end of every letter, and, carved into the wrist band.  
Which Hermione claimed was eerily like a handcuff until he just hissed her to stop it because she was making it worse.

It was strange though. Hermione had looked up stalkers, and this one didn't truly fit any of the stereotypical characteristics. The unknown person had never said anything about their future together, any allusions to him feeling anything back. They hadn't really said anything about themselves in context to him at all. The letters themselves were very pragmatic, simple facts of what was going to happen to Ginny or Cho if he didn't back off.

He didn't want to think about it. It wasn't this...dark lord. 'Lord Voldemort' meant nothing, LV meant nothing, and he'd washed his hands off the whole matter.

He'd been somewhat relieved to escape into the world, to just run and travel and learn. IT wasn't hiding or avoiding anything, it was just...giving LV time to find something else to obsess over. Preferably not another person, because then he would just feel horribly guilty.

He swallowed, clenching his fists.

"Yeah, well, I'm not in school anymore. If he comes near me, I'll deck him and tell him to leave me alone," Harry said, firmly.

"You're going to take on a Dark Lord with an obsession on you?" Hermione replied, chewing her lip, hands curling in her lap. "That doesn't seem very safe. I think you should tell someone. Work this out - if it's a lead."

"I haven't heard from LV in years," Harry hissed. Ron and Hermione were eyeing him worriedly again, and he scowled. "Just drop the subject, alright?"

"Do you promise you'll bring it up with the Department if it turns out the two are connected?" Hermione persisted. Harry clenched his jaw.

"Fine. Whatever. Moving on..."  
He wouldn't.

If LV really was an insane, and, according to the recent attacks murderous, Dark Lord, there was absolutely no way he was putting anyone else in the line of fire.

He would handle it.  
But LV wasn't a dark lord. That would be ridiculous.

Besides, that would suggest LV was man.

* * *

Tom sat at his office - it was small, joint to the Senior Under-secretary's office, and then the Minister of Magic's.

He absolutely hated both of his 'superiors'. Cornelius Fudge was a greedy, bumbling fool, as easy as that made him to manipulate. He had Draco and Lucius on that particular case, discreetly of course.

Nothing was ever connected to him unless he wanted it to be. He was hidden.

Dolores Umbridge was even worse, the bitch was utterly insufferable. He wanted her dead more than anything, but, for now, she was more useful to his purposes alive.

He was Tom Riddle, quiet, modest student, brilliant, poor orphan, so very talented and good. He'd dated here and there, to keep up impressions of friendliness and charm.

Perhaps it was childish not to let Harry do the same thing, but he figured it was for the best. He didn't particularly want to be a homewrecker or break Harry's heart by killing a fiance or something, so he was being kind in not letting the man get too attached to any person.

He had his friends, of course. He was reasonable, he allowed those. He did want Harry to be happy after all, and they were no threat to him.

Not that the other people were. Hogwarts just didn't allow for the right sort of opportunity with the boy being older than him and in a different house.

He was in no rush. He wasn't so pathetic as to just cling, or kidnap Harry or anything. That would ruin him. No, the beauty of this was making sure Harry came to him.

Harry aside, he had larger plans, bigger, bolder plans for the Wizarding World. It delighted him that his prey was an Auror though, the irony was delicious, the situation perfect.

Harry really would be chasing after him. He didn't allow himself to smirk, diligently playing his role and doing the paperwork. It would be so much fun toying with him though, he couldn't wait. It wasn't priority, of course, but if there was an opportunity for it...

He'd even arranged a little something for Harry's first day on the job. His own had been utterly tedious and full of small talk so boring that he wanted to crucio himself.

First things first though, he needed to find a way to integrate himself into Harry's life naturally, comfortably. To be his friend. He did just want to be the man's friend too, after all.

Or his enemy, he could work with that too. He wasn't fussy. It didn't change the base facts anyway.

Either way, his game plan would kick firmly into motion soon. He'd been building up to this for so long now, he wouldn't let anyone get in his way and spoil it.

Not even Harry himself.

* * *

This...was an absolute nightmare.  
It definitely wasn't boring, at least Harry could say that about it.

Hermione, of course, immediately decided to point out that the Dark Lord had performed another of his raids just for Harry's first day on the job an an Auror. He, immediately, wished she hadn't pointed it out, like he had somehow failed to notice it himself.

It was interesting though, in a morbid, sick type of way. These attacks weren't random, LV wasn't just slaughtering people for the sake of it like a glorified serial killer.

There was a plan behind it, however convoluted it was.

A 'Dark Mark' had been found over the house of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts, along with an amendment from the Statue of Magical Security pinned to her chest, where she'd clearly been set up on what looked like a pyre.

Exactly like the ones witches and wizards used to be burned on. The words 'magical purity' were carved bloody into her back.

It was only due to far too much experience with battlefields and gruesome deaths that Harry didn't promptly hurl his breakfast. The 'LV' was sliced into her left arm, very small and discreet compared to the careful ostentatious showmanship of the rest of the scene.

It was a political ideology, stance and message, that much was clear.

They examined the scene closely, took crime scene photos, before returning to the Offices to try and brainstorm.

He should have known Ron would say something, a little too loudly.

"What do you mean, this can't be a coincidence?" Scrimgeour demanded, sharply, eyes snapping to them. "If you know something, speak up boys. Now."

Harry hesitated, grimacing.

"It's really not much of a connection-"

"-Harry used to have a stalker who identified him or herself with the letters LV," Ron said bluntly. "Just like on the Dark Lord's scenes."

There was a terrible, thickening silence that seemed so heavy it was suffocating. Harry's mouth ran a little dry.

"WHAT? And you're mentioning this...now?" their Head of Department growled, taking a step forward, glaring at him.

Great, just great. It would almost be an achievement to get fired on his first day.

"I didn't think it was relevant, sir," Harry began to explain himself, fists clenching, speaking as calmly as he could.

"How many psychopaths do you know who go by the initials L-" the man interrupted, only to pause as there was a knock on the door.

Without any hesitation for an answer, the door then opened and a stack of papers on legs entered.  
The documents were dropped on a desk, along with several cups of coffee, revealing a face.

Riddle.

Rufus straightened, but Tom started immediately.

"The Minister needs to know if you have any leads on the Voldemort case. The Press are hounding him, and he wants something to say to them," the man said, with the calmness Harry himself had just been trying to maintain. "I figured I'd get you all coffee on the way too, so maybe then tomorrow we won't have another scandal because you'll be awake enough to get to the scene before there's a body."

Harry nearly choked on the coffee he'd just lunged for. Scrimgeour didn't look quite so amused, lips thinning with disapproval.

"Mr Riddle, I do hope you're taking this seriously," the man started, icily. Tom's expression hardened, even as he gave an all too pleasant smile back.

"Oh, I am. Which is exactly why I want our Aurors on their best and alert, Mr Scrimgeour," he replied, lightly. "Now - leads? The Prophet have us on a tight schedule."

"Mr Weasley and Mr Potter were just elaborating on a possible lead," Kingsley murmured, in his slow drawl.

Riddle's eyes moved to him for the first time, expectantly. Harry suddenly felt trapped, awkward, and folded his arms, resisting the urge to shoot Ron a black look.  
"I used to have a...stalker, I suppose you could call it, who went by the initials LV," he muttered. "Ron here seems to think there's a connection between the two."

"But you don't?" Tom asked. Harry shrugged.

"I suppose it's possible, I'm just not sure it's enough to warrant an investigation. It would narrow the suspect pool down a lot though. If they're the same person, due to earlier incidents they'd have to be around their twenties to be at Hogwarts the same time as me, and probably not older than 23 due to incidents in my sixth year."

"It's rather unlikely that a Dark Lord of any great standing would be that age, unless he is merely tricking us into believing us he has more following and influence than he actually does," Scrimgeour mused.

"Exactly," Harry said.

"But it's worth an investigation, nonetheless. It's the best we have right now," the man continued.

Damn it. It wasn't that he didn't want to catch Lord Voldemort...he just didn't want to go into those past events, especially not with his new colleagues. It was embarrassing!

Tom was staring at him.  
"Do you feel threatened? Because I can arrange a bodyguard for your sec-"

"Hell no!" Harry protested, surging to his feet, nearly slopping his coffee everywhere. "I do not need a bodyguard. For fuck's sake, a stalker already infringes on my life and privacy - and, just for reference, nothing has happened in years - I am not having a bodyguard shadowing me every bloody second of the day."

"It was merely a polite suggestion," Riddle said mildly. "For your safety. No need to get so agitated, Auror Potter."

Harry nearly slammed his head against the wall.

"Yeah, well, thanks, but no thanks."

Tom studied him a moment longer, before his gaze cast to their department head again.  
"What should I tell the Minister then?"

Scrimgeour was silent for a while.

"Tell him we are looking into the situation and doing everything we can to resolve this and bring this 'Dark Lord' to justice and Azkaban. Potter - with Shacklebolt. Tell him everything about this matter, I presume I don't need to put Auror Weasley on duty with you to ensure you don't omit details for whatever reason," he stated, curtly. "After that, you are having nothing more to do with this investigation until this lead is resolved."

"_What?_" Harry hissed. "No! Sir - with all due respect-"

"With all due respect, you will obey my orders," Scrimgeour barked. Harry's teeth gritted.

"But I can _help_!"

"If this Dark Lord is really your stalker, he is fixated on you and your involvement on this matter will only spur him on," the man snarled.

"He's invaluable to you as bait though," Tom said quietly. Harry blinked, before turning to face the man.

"See! Exactly! What he said!" he pointed at Riddle. "Thanks for the concern about my well being by the way," he added, dryly.

"You're welcome. Not to mention, if this Dark Lord is really the stalker and fixated on Mr Potter, withdrawing him might provoke a violent reaction," Tom continued. "It's like dangling a mouse in front of a cat and then telling it that it's not allowed to play. Mr Potter's induction to the department wasn't exactly kept secret - as suggested, if the timing really was meant to welcome him to his new job. The Dark Lord knows about it, and may retaliate."

"Yes, thank you,_ Junior Under-secretary to the Minister_," Scrimgeour drawled, rather pointedly. "How about you do your job, and let us do ours? Though I'm wondering if I should be suspicious that you can anticipate this maniacs actions?"

"It's not exactly hard to extrapolate it as a possible response," Riddle returned, coldly, eyes darkening all over again. "Because I'd hate to think you were accusing me of being this Dark Lord simply for possessing a brain and the logical capacity to think and no other evidence."

Harry was starting to feel awkward again.

"We could watch how the situation goes and I will step out of this investigation if it is necessary?" he offered. "We still have no solid evidence to suggest that I have any connection to Lord Voldemort and, if I did, his antics this morning would imply he has far better things to do and far greater agendas than sending me love notes, don't you think?"

"Exactly. I like you Harry Potter, stay on this job," Tom smirked. Scrimgeour's face soured.

"Fine. For now we will wait - Potter, go and report to Kingsley now. Mr Riddle tell the Minister I will see him shortly. Both of you, stop flirting with each other. It's sickening to watch"

Harry's eyes widened as he gaped.  
"What? I'm not-"

"Now."  
Harry grabbed his coffee and stalked after Kingsley, red-faced.

This was one hell of a first day. He'd expected things to be better longer before screwing up on him.

He blamed LV.  
He could find the git and lock him up just for being such a bloody nuisance.

...and that really wasn't the right way to look at this, considering the other's appalling crimes.  
Shit.

He couldn't wait for his lunch break.

* * *

_A/N: So, I should probably be a tactical author and wait at least twenty four hours before posting so people will review on both. But hey, I've never been a tactical author in my life and I've always posted for you guys the second I could before because I know I hate waiting for stories to upload, so I'm not going to do the same to you. Hope you enjoyed it! More will be revealed on what's canon and what's not as you go along...bear with me. Never written an AU like this before, that doesn't diverge off a canon point._

_Thanks for all the reviews and support so far! :)_

PS: Will update SIS next, promise. It's not abandoned, nor is PP, this is just my equivalent of temporarily being distracted by shiny objects :P  



	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

By lunchtime, Harry was ready to completely explode.

He knew he should probably go and be friendly in the Ministry cafeteria, field questions, do some proper networking, investigations...but he needed air.

He was an Auror, for god's sake, he would have expected people to be at least a little less stifling. Not only was he an Auror, he'd been the soldier on the front line of war - it was insulting that they thought he needed protecting so much.

He wasn't exactly helpless, and, what was LV going to do, jump him from behind a filing cabinet? He was at the bloody Ministry of Magic, nothing was going to happen, and he'd had quite enough of sharing his personal life for one day.

Maybe, for that reason, he avoided Ron and Hermione too. They were the ones that ensured his first morning as an Auror was spent being interrogated rather intrusively.

He knew it wasn't fair to blame them; they were only looking out for him, worried, and he knew in their position he'd be doing anything he could to help. They just weren't helping.

He went to the roof of the building.  
It wasn't strictly allowed, and he really should have been setting a better example as one of the Law Enforcement, but...well...

He'd always liked being high up, near the air, or, preferably, flying. It was calming, to be so above the world and whatever was happening in it, like it could give him some perspective on the situation. It could calm his mind, because he liked to think he wasn't a coward and could face whatever people threw at him...but spending a morning theorising about some creep, potential Dark Lord and how it could escalate to him being raped and murdered if he was provocative was enough to put anyone on edge.

He wasn't scared, but he'd be lying if he said he was nonchalant and utterly at ease with the whole thing either.

Training never really covered being personally targeted, but he supposed he'd had some of his own experiential schooling on that matter already.

The problem was that someone had already found his spot, and...

"Are you stalking me or something?" Riddle demanded, glancing around.

Harry spluttered.

"No! I didn't think anyone was up here," he protested. "I'll just, uh, go-"

"-Oh relax, I'm only teasing you, soldier boy. More or less. You may as well sit down," Tom rolled his eyes, before waving a thermos. "I have more coffee."

Harry wasn't entirely sure if he should be amused or not. But he didn't want to go face the canteen just yet, that was for sure.

"You know, you can't buy my affections through coffee, don't you?" he smirked, rolling his eyes.

"Bribery doesn't work?" Riddle raised his brows. "What a pity. Can I buy it through dinner and food instead? Tonight? Eight O Clock?"

Harry couldn't help laughing, flopping down next to the man.

"You're a creep."

"And you're just charming," Riddle returned, dryly, not missing a beat. "I don't know what this Dark Lord sees in you. Be as polite to him as you are to me and I'm sure he'll cringe away in horror. Speaking of, should you be wandering around on your own when you're evidence and a possible target?"

"Oh don't start," Harry snapped, grimacing. "The whole department have been hassling and coddling me all morning. It's driving me bloody nuts."

Riddle laughed.

"It doesn't bother you that there's some _insane _psychopath after you?"

"Well, it doesn't exactly make my day," Harry muttered. "But it's not like it's proven yet. Everyone could be freaking out over nothing. Besides, if he is the Dark Lord and comes after me and gets too close than I can stab him, can't I?"

"You can try, I'm sure. Though I'm certain that's not exactly an official or legal method of apprehending criminal activists."

Right. Junior Under-secretary to the minister, wasn't he?

"When they arrest me for murder, be my alibi and pretend this conversation never happened, yeah? Deal?" he said, aiming for a winning grin.

"Perhaps for the right price," Tom murmured, eyes gleaming with amusement...and he was getting stared at again. Harry looked away pointedly, clearing his throat.

"I'll leave you to drink your coffee in peac-what are you even doing up here?" Harry asked. He couldn't believe that question hadn't popped into his head immediately.

"I could ask you the same question," Tom returned. "But, seeing as you asked first - I'm avoiding my supervisor giving me more paperwork. That, and she keeps flirting with me. It's a bit disturbing really."

"Is she the one who looks like a toad?" Harry's lips twitched. "Least she's not stalking you."

"Would be easier if she was. Then I could put a restraining order on her," Tom drawled.

"Lucky for some. I don't think a Dark Lord would really give a damn about a legal restraining order," Harry muttered, voice darkening a little.

"You also don't know who the Dark Lord is, so it could be rather difficult," Riddle said, shrugging carelessly. Harry couldn't help but suddenly appreciate the man, freaky staring aside, for not making a massive big deal about and acting all serious about it. In all honesty, making a bit of a joke and a banter about it actually really helped.

"Yeah, it _could_be you. You're 21, went to Hogwarts with me. Bit of a creep. Fits the bill," Harry said. "That and you keep staring at me."

"Wear a paper bag. You have interesting eyes, I can't help myself."

Harry promptly went beetroot all over again.

"Yeah, well, _start_helping yourself-" he growled, only to pause and then groan as Riddle smirked at his phrasing. "Damn it, I didn't mean help yourself, bloody hell, just stop it, alright? It's rude and it's weird and you've always done it, or I'll start thinking you actually are a stalker."

"Harry, I lived with you for fifteen years. Do you not think if I was a stalker I would have done something then?" Tom replied, raising his brows once more in what Harry was starting to get the feeling was a you're-an-idiot expression. He scowled.

"Yeah-well-you're infuriating!"

"Love you too, sweetheart. Run along then and leave me to my coffee break before I get accused some more. I dare say it would be a bit of a downer on my Ministerial career if I got tossed into prison for apparently being a Dark Lord and a stalker."

"Try not staring at me then," Harry replied. "Or calling me sweetheart."

Riddle just smirked and waved. _ Dismissing him_. Harry scowled all over again, folding his arms.

"And it's a free country, I can stay up here and pester and accuse you all I want," he added.

"Always found that saying interesting. It's a free country," Riddle murmured. "And of course you can stay as long as you like, I won't stop you. I might punch you if you accuse me of being a Dark Lord again though, because twice in one day and I'm starting to think something's wrong."

"...I was joking," Harry said, a little more quietly this time, in response to the other's expression.

"Not quite so funny if you do get me in real trouble," Tom said softly, with more seriousness than he'd shown in the whole conversation. Maybe he was a bit more scared about the rise of this new Dark Lord than he let on. "Because I do actually fit your earlier categories, and as you may have noticed Scrimgeour and I don't exactly get on. I was asked to be an Auror due to a defense thesis I wrote, you see, but I turned the job down. The bastard never forgave me and is now convinced I am in fact a Dark Wizard."

"Oh...bloody hell, sorry." Now he felt like a prick. He didn't actually want to inadvertently put an innocent man with the Dementors. "I'll save accusations for if I'm sure you're a Dark Lord creep and not just a bit of a weirdo," he added, to ease the bad feeling in the air.

"Then I dare say I can pretend you didn't tell me your intention to stab Lord Voldemort if he was your stalker." Tom said, smirking again, good humour returned. "Wouldn't want to get dragged in as an accessory anyway."

"And there comes the Slytherin cunning," Harry rolled his eyes. "But - anyway - I was leaving."

"Even if it's a free county?"

"Even then. Sorry. Next time bring food and maybe you can bribe my awesome company a bit longer, i'm starving," Harry teased. "Do you come up here often then?"

"I find it calming. Most Mondays."

"I bloody hate Mondays. They're always the worst," Harry grumbled, mildly.

"Indeed. Off you go then, try not to get kidnapped on your way down the stairs."

"Oh, ha ha..." Harry sneered. "You're just a blast, Riddle. It's a date then or whatever...except, y'know, not really. You're just in my spot, but hey, if my potential stalker Dark Lord hears of it, maybe he'll kill you. Then I can just have the roof to myself."

"Ouch," Riddle pressed a hand against his heart. "Just as we were getting along. You break my heart, Potter."

Harry snickered and shut the door behind him.  
The cafeteria seemed more manageable now.

* * *

"My lord."

Tom didn't look up at the soft murmur, sitting on the Chesterfield with his documents in hand. They had been simple enough to get hold of, especially for someone in his position, and easy to make copies of so they wouldn't be missed.

The personal files of all the Aurors, those on the Voldemort investigation.  
It was interesting reading, useful research. They'd investigate him, he'd study them in turn to ensure he always ended up on top.

"You may enter," he said, quietly. Lucius came over, a little stiffly, kneeling in front of him with a rustle of cloth. As it should be. "Did you do as I asked?"

"Yes, my lord. We've managed to attain Thicknesse. As the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, he has prime control over the Aurors, even Scrimgeour, and is well placed to succeed when the time is opportune."

Somehow, it was even more glorious to have the allegiance and loyalty of those older than him, those who had once turned their noses up at him and his heritage. He'd certainly proven them wrong on that account. He got their children, his peers, first, and from there he'd broadened his scope to snag their parent's generation too.

With the fall of Grindelwald, the Dark community had their eyes on him, the Heir and Lord of Slytherin. He would not disappoint them, with a blood line as pure and regal as his, it was clear he was worthy of their loyalty and their hopes.

He had power they could scarcely dream of. Where once Lord Voldemort was a child's dream and fantasy, he was now real, and so very much alive. The world would not be able to look away and Britain, and the rest of the world, would fall to its knees before him.

The only problem was the Prophecy, but he was sure that would resolve itself as well to his good fortune. Only fools relied on Fate to do what hard work could bring themselves anyway.

"You have done well," he purred. "Dismissed. Send your son in, I have a new assignment for him too, seeing as he saw fit to interrupt me in the weekend's festivities."

Lucius nodded, gaze glancing up at him, so very briefly.

_He loved the terror and respect in their eyes most of all._

* * *

It had been a bloody long day at the Office. Considering it was his first day, it was ridiculous that he should be hauled into over-time already...but with another war looming in the shadows, he couldn't complain.

He'd yet to receive missive from Albus either.  
His Professor and...General, for want of a better word perhaps, had promised to send message once he was back in England, after settling Grindelwald into his new quarters at Numergard.

The entire nation awaited him with a hero's welcome for having defeated the Dark Lord. Harry himself had only been honoured to be mentored by the man on the field.

It was unusual, really, for a fresh-faced graduate such as himself to be selected for the front line, or for any close relationship with the Leader of the Light, and, at times, he'd felt like his Professor was almost prepping him for something...

But it had never happened, so the thought was ridiculous, irrelevant.

He assumed the man had just taken interest in him because he knew his parents, before they were murdered. Of course, that raised the question of how he'd ended up in the Orphanage in the first place, but considering the state of affairs at the time he couldn't blame Dumbledore for allowing some children to slip through the cracks of society. Not in the larger scheme of things.

For the first three years of his life, he'd been raised by the Dursley's, on his mother's side. He supposed, one day, that day, they just got sick of his 'freakishness' and their inability to suppress it. He'd been left to wander London whilst they went away on Holiday, only to be found and dropped off at the nearest Orphanage.

And there, he stayed. Most of his previous life faded from memory, but their was still the traces, the shouts in his ears.

The Orphanage hadn't been much better.  
He got into fights with the other children too much, mainly the older ones whenever they picked on anyone younger than themselves - including Tom as well, he supposed.

He wondered if Riddle remembered that, he wasn't going to bring it up.  
He would have done the same for anyone - he did - it was just that Riddle seemed to attract the abuse more than anyone else.

He'd wondered then if he had the freakishness too, but the boy seemed so normal, no outbursts of any kind, no accidental magic. He'd assumed he was wrong, and it melted from memory, and he felt so alone...then he got his Hogwarts letter, and most other thoughts were forgot.

Tom had got his letter the next year.  
He assumed, then, that whilst he hadn't picked up on the younger's magic, that Tom had noticed and been drawn to him. Probably why the kid had always stared at him. Well, that, and because he protected him. Hero worship, or something. It was kind of sweet, if not a bit annoying.

Thankfully the man had got over it now...aside from the staring. He was surprisingly good company.

He fished his keys out, thinking that maybe an owl would come tonight, shoved them into the lock and stepped into his crappy apartment.

He exhaled a sigh, letting his bag drop, only to frown.  
Was...the floor a bit dark and stickier than normal?

His wand was out instantly, his hand fumbling for the lights.  
He blinked to adjust as the gloom and darkness faded, only to wish he hadn't.

_Shit._

* * *

_A/N: Wow, it's like Fate's Favourite all over again with my crazy updating. Don't expect it to last (sorry), I do actually have work and stuff I should also be doing, and coursework soon. Nonetheless, enjoy the new chapter whilst it's here. Woo, shiny objects! But yeah, I hope you guys are enjoying this story. If not everything makes sense, relax, I'm writing an AU, it's not supposed to. All will be explained along the way, as I go along. I just have no desire to 'information block.' Lucky for you guys I have no life and this is my free time :P_

PS: Yes, I did change the name from Lover of Lies ;)

**PPS: To the people telling me I'm 'too good a writer' to write slash, being a good writer, in my humble opinion, has nothing to do with what genre you write in, it's about making the best of that and doing good characterisation regardless of if it's a romance or a platonic friendship fic, and I would never write a slash story if I didn't want to, just because I have readers who may be particularly happy to see me doing one. If I did that, Fate's Favourite would have been a slash. I'm not degrading myself by writing a slash fic, or ruining my reputation because apparently writing a slash fic means I can no longer write the characters well without slash? I'm merely trying to improve myself as a writer and trying new things. Maybe this story will be absolutely shit and I won't do it again, doesn't mean I can't try or that it affects my other stories and my other writing. **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Harry had a cup of tea burning his clenched fingers.  
His hands weren't shaking, his expression was perfectly stoic, even as the Aurors all bustled around him.

He hadn't been the one to call them. Really, why would he? He was an Auror himself, he was the person people called when stuff like this happened. There was no one else.

Hermione had come to check on him, worried, and had flooed in when he made no effort whatsoever to answer the door. She'd immediately called some people, and shoved a piping cup of tea into his hands as if that would make this better. She talked, she rationalised.

The blood was going to be a nightmare to get out of the walls.

_Hello. _

There was nothing more, no threat, just - just _'hello'_. There was none of the normal identifier, no LV, but Harry didn't think he really needed one.

He calmly ordered someone to confirm whose blood was on his wall, and wondered why they were all eyeing him with an increasingly nervous energy and wariness when he was so clearly holding it together.

He wasn't even remotely surprised when it turned out to belong to Charity Burbage; the Dark Lord was clearly mocking all of them, and him most of all.

Harry's home wasn't badly warded, anything but. It was a statement of power, a taunt of how his stalker could infringe even into his home, that there was nowhere truly safe because everyone had a right to feel protected and relaxed in their own home.

"Potter, I'm afraid you're really going to have to step out of this investigation," Scrimgeour said quietly, gruffly, but not with any intent to spite. "I'm sorry."

"Really?" Harry murmured. "Because to me it seems like he wants my attention, and rather a lot. Riddle could be right in saying that my absence from this case would only provoke him further."

"I would be more careful when listening to the words of Tom Riddle," his head of department said, sharply. "Take my word on that. He's not what he seems."

"Because he refused to become an Auror?" Harry raised his brows, though there was no particular threat in his tone. Scrimgeour's eyes widened.

"He told you about that, did he? What inspired that comment?"

"He seems to believe you think he's a Dark Wizard, it came up when I pointed out he fit the criteria of Lord Voldemort. Don't worry, I haven't discussed the case with him, nothing that wouldn't already be given to him in paperwork, to filter for the Minister."

"Does he know where you live?"

"I see no reason why he should or would," Harry replied, studying his superior carefully. "Do you honestly believe he's the Dark Lord? It seems a hasty conclusion."

"He's a talented wizard, and not what he seems," Scrimgeour stated, flatly.

"That doesn't make him a Dark Lord," Kingsley murmured. "Though I agree he may be suitable for investigation. He's intelligent, and powerful, or so I'm told. Such things don't exactly work in his favour right now."

"Mr Potter here is powerful too,"Robards pointed out, lightly. "He's just as viable a suspect."

"What?" Ron demanded, flaring. "There's no bloody way that Harry's the Dark Lord! What, you think he sent himself creepy messages on the wall?"

"This is absurd," Hermione began.

"Well, it's probably as likely as Tom Riddle being the Dark Lord," Harry shrugged, even as his expression darkened a little. "Though, for reference, I'd like to state I'm not Voldemort, even if my comment on the matter cannot be taken."

"He didn't exactly contact anyone when he found blood on the walls," Robards continued. "We need to test the freshness of the blood to see if he has an alibi for whether or not he did this himself, though even if he hasn't, the evidence is not conclusive as he could have ordered someone else to do it for him. Of course, I'm not saying you are the Dark Lord, Potter, but all avenues must be explored."

"Harry's the victim here," Ron snapped, angrily, fists clenching. "You're all barmy!"  
"It's actually not that insane," Harry almost wanted to laugh. "If I wasn't me, I might suspect myself too. The only problem is that Voldemort has been stirring whilst I've been out the country fighting against Grindelwald. It would be pretty hard for me to be a rising Dark Lord during that."

"Riddle then," Scrimgeour stated. Harry shot him a look.

"With all due respect, sir, you have no proof of that. You might not like him, but that doesn't make him a mass murderer."

"You may want to get in his pants, that doesn't make him innocent," Scrimgeour returned.  
Harry was glad he wasn't drinking his tea, choking and spluttering twice in one day would have been a bit too much.

"I'm not gay! I - this isn't even relevant, sir," Harry growled. "Even if I did fancy Riddle - which, just for reference, I don't - it still wouldn't necessitate him being Lord Voldemort. He's a politician, that to some extent accounts for him being a bit of a creep or a slime ball at times, or being 'up to something.' They're all up to something, you could accuse the minister too - or the Malfoys for that matter, but I don't see you saying Draco is the Dark Lord. It's not like either of them are opposed to the views the Dark Lord is proposing, they're notoriously blood purist. Riddle is a half blood raised in a muggle orphanage. I'd know, I grew up with him."

"I could see Malfoy being a Dark Lord actually," Ron said. Hermione huffed.

"Just because you two don't like him, that doesn't make him a Dark Lord either. So far, none of the accusations or suggestions made in this room would stand up in a court of law, and, thus, you have no proper conviction even if you're assumptions were correct," she said.

"Talking of people with a crush on Tom Riddle," Ron muttered. Hermione glared furiously, blushing.

"I was sixteen! He's smart and handsome and doesn't exactly look or act his age, and I can say that objectively because I'm not a child and we're not in school anymore. Everyone fancied him to some extent at some point."

"I didn't," Harry pointed out.

"You spent most your childhood around him. You're more likely to see him as family," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Like a little brother or something."

Harry blinked.

"Yeah, maybe when I was six, I liked that idea, but it's not like we're close and this is completely off topic. I have bloodstains on my wall. I should clean them out now, if you guys are done taking evidence." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to think of anything else and...stuff. He was not thinking about that night.

"Mr Potter, you're not staying here tonight," Scrimgeour said, immediately, gaze sharpening on him again. "If you're not the Dark Lord, then there is a very real danger towards you. It has already been proven that your wards can be breached, you are not safe here."

"Oh well please don't let Robards put me in a ministry holding cell for the night to keep me safe," Harry snapped, before he could himself. He drew in several calming breaths under the look his superiors levelled him with. "Sorry."

"You'll stay with me for the night," Scrimgeour said. "Until more suitable arrangement can be made. It's no secret that you're friends with Auror Weasley and Miss Granger, so I would prefer not to place a larger target on their backs by having them house you. Pack your stuff." There was no room for protest in the words.

"I can defend myself," Harry muttered, scowling. "Besides, if I'm the Dark Lord you shouldn't let me in your house."

"If you were the Dark Lord, you would not make that protest for the advantages being in my house would apparently afford you," Scrimgeour replied. Harry grimaced.

"Ah, yeah, unless of course I was trying to lull you all into a false sense of security-"

"-Harry, are you seriously going down the route of convincing a room for all of Aurors that you're a Dark Lord? It could sound dangerously like a confession, under which we'd have no choice but to arrest you," Tonks laughed, even if there was a serious edge to it.

They looked at him expectantly. He deflated.  
"...no. I'm not.

"Riddle was right, and I can't believe I'm saying that," Ron snorted.

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"You really should get a bodyguard."  
Harry scowled.

* * *

This had to be the most awkward thing, ever.  
He was having a sleepover at his boss' house, he felt like some stupid little kid who couldn't look after himself.

Except, he did know how to look after himself, and despite all the talk about it when he first got back, they suddenly all seemed to forget he'd just arrived off the front line of a war.

It was infuriating.

He'd never been particularly good at accepting authority, he'd spent a rather significant chunk of his school years in detention. Sometimes he wondered why he'd then decided to join the ministry, and he supposed it came down to the fact that being an Auror was better than the civilian life.

When he was younger, even when he'd just graduated, he'd dreamed of having a normal life without stalkers, or Dark Lords at war who seemed far too interested in him(and really, what was it about him, was he a Dark Lord magnet or something because Grindelwald had been almost as obsessed with him as he had been with Dumbledore!) or anything else dangerous.

...now. Well, it wasn't that he didn't like the ideal of safe and comfortable living, with a white picket face, a smart, beautiful wife who loved him and two point five kids of whatever...he just didn't think he could do it.

He was...calmer, in a crisis, more relaxed almost. He'd grown up in war, now, whenever it was peace, he started feeling involuntarily edgy despite his best efforts. He couldn't help waiting for something to go wrong.

Danger was his home now, and however good a home it was or wasn't, he couldn't shake it.

And he most certainly was not just going to let some madman, Dark Lord or no, walk around and take control of his life. He'd had enough of feeling freaked out and powerless at Hogwarts, yielding to demand and isolating himself.

He wouldn't be so weak again. This time, he was going to fight for his life because he did not enter a bloody war just to have some home-grown terrorist smother him out.

Lord Voldemort could go to hell, and, whether it was with the Aurors or not, legally or not, he was going to win this time.

LV wanted a game, a response, and he could bloody well get one and deal with it.

Game on.

He reckoned it was time for the renegade to come out and play again.

* * *

"What happened?"

Harry looked at Riddle, almost surprised, and yet not quite. Perhaps a little suspicious too. They were on the rooftop again, the wind whipping their hair aside and against their faces.

"What do you mean?" he asked, cautiously.  
Tom favoured him with a look, partly amused, but mostly a little concerned.

"You're even more irritable today then you were yesterday," the man said. "And your Aurors are coddling you even more too. It's not difficult to assume that something happened."

Harry was quiet for a long moment.

"Someone broke into my flat and painted the walls with Charity Burbage's blood. Know anything about it?"

Tom's eyes narrowed.  
"Are you accusing me of being a Dark Lord again?"

"No," Harry replied, as innocently as he could. "No need to get defensive. I just meant, seeing your position, that you might know some stuff that the higher ups won't tell me."

"I don't know anything. Not work hours, it's outside my jurisdiction," the other replied. "I'm sorry to hear it though. Are you okay? Stupid question, ignore that, it obviously must have been stressful. Did your department at least get any leads out of it?"  
If this man was Voldemort, then he was a very good actor.

"Me as Voldemort, apparently," Harry snorted.

Tom raised his brows, looking amused.

"Are you?"

Harry stared back at Tom flatly.  
"Wouldn't you love to know. If I was, wouldn't tell the junior under secretary of the minister, would I?"

"I'm more than my position, you know," Riddle said. Harry glanced at him, before snaffling some more chips from the container.

"Yeah, no worries, you're a great source for lunch too," he smirked, before pausing. "Speaking of...how much do I owe you for these?"

"A kiss. Or 5 sickles and 2 knuts if you want to be boring about it."

Harry stopped chewing for a moment, staring at the other, head tilting.  
"...that's the second time you've made a reference like that. Clarify for my social obliviousness in such matters, are you actually being serious?"

"I have no need for money," Riddle shrugged. Harry blinked, and swallowed the remnants of his chip thickly, not entirely sure how to react to that. He should probably ask 'do you fancy me' or something, but that was awkward and he didn't want to go there. Turned the conversation too much away from banter.

"I'm actually quite insulted that you don't think my kisses are worth at least a galleon," he replied, instead. "You'd pay a whore more than that."

Tom stared at him incredulously for a moment, before just starting to laugh.

Harry grinned back, but his thoughts had gone distant. If Tom was Voldemort...he could use this without much guilt. Of course, if he wasn't, Harry was a cruel bastard...but it wasn't technically like he was attaching strings. Riddle would be doing that in his own mind.

It wasn't exactly the official Auror way of investigating either.  
But...well, he wasn't technically on the Voldemort case anymore, was he?

"Hey, do you want to grab a coffee or something some time?"  
Tom stopped laughing.

* * *

_A/N: It's me again! Guess I've got the bug for this story at the moment, haha. Sorry. I guess I can't wait to get to the bits in my head..(minds out the gutter!) you know me, I prefer messed up power play and what , anyway, hope you enjoyed the update! And that the story is living up to your expectations. _

_PS: Americans, chips is fries in case you start wondering what the hell I'm talking about. _


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Tom stared at Harry for several long moments, as much as he'd should perhaps need to cover his long silence in some manner later - justify it.

For now, his head tilted as he quickly assessed the situation.  
Obviously, he had absolutely no objection to having coffee with the other man...the real question was why Harry was suddenly suggesting such a thing.

His first thought was investigation. Harry was trying to subtly investigate him. He had to say that he adored that idea. He loved the idea of Harry trying to catch him, chasing after him, even if he knew it or not. It was...gorgeous.

He almost wished Harry knew he was Voldemort already, and indeed, the only reason he didn't set up conditions to be able to tell the other and watch him get increasingly frustrated when he could do nothing about it was because he wanted to see and watch Harry work it out for himself.

The Auror was smarter than most people gave him credit for, and his instincts were impeccable. Harry suspected him on some level already, he was just suppressing the sentiment for whatever reason as irrational, and because he had no solid proof.

Harry would be so much more fun to play with if he knew.

On the other hand, he did get some smug gratification out of just leading the man on, round and round. The idea of Harry falling in love with him, coming to rely and trust solely in him, and then finding out that he was Lord Voldemort was simply perfect. Then he could watch that beautiful, fragile but so strong heart shatter, and promptly build it up again piece by piece.

So many options; he truly was spoiled for choice.

Of course, Harry could also just be completely oblivious and asking him for a coffee, which, whilst pleasing...wasn't anywhere near as lovely as the first option.

This took a matter of seconds of thought, and he tilted his head to one side.

"...are you mocking me?" he let his brow furrow, and delighted in the way Harry's eyes widened with shock.

"What? No!" the man protested. "Why would I be mocking you?"

The blush was absurdly easy to call up, as he stared down at the chips, before affecting his normal casual demeanour.

"Well, it's probably pretty obvious that I...uh...have...you know, a crush on you." He swallowed, before offering Harry a look. "Your boss noticed it easily enough."

Harry had flushed a rather charming red colour, just like he knew the auror would. He knew this topic would make Harry very uncomfortable. It was that summer all over again.

"I'm not mocking you," the other muttered. "I...wouldn't do that. I'm sorry if I made you feel like I was. But...er...you know I'm not, er, gay, don't you?"

If he didn't have impeccable self-control, Tom was certain he would have just cracked up laughing. He merely raised his brows back at Harry, pointedly now, some of the facade slipping away. The man flushed even further, looking away, throat bobbing.

"This was a bad idea - just forget I said any-"

"Coffee sounds great. Friday at Lunch?"

_Game on._

* * *

"...you're doing what?" Ron growled, staring at him, absolutely incredulous. "Harry, I always thought you could be kind of mad, but this is insane, even for you. You know perfectly well Riddle is a prime suspect!"

"Yeah, what's your point? I'm not on the Voldemort case anymore."  
Ron didn't look even remotely amused.

"Remember what Hermione said about stalkers? What if he rapes and murders you?"

"Your faith in my duelling abilities is much appreciated," Harry replied, dryly. "I can handle myself fine. It's not like this is the first time I've had dealings with Dark Lords."

"That was a different type of battlefield," Ron protested. "Besides, you had Dumbledore with you, and knew perfectly well what you were dealing with."

"I grew up with Riddle. He's not going to just turn around and murder me," Harry rolled his eyes. "Besides, the bloke has a crush on me-"

"-so does the stalker."

"-and he knows that perfectly well," Harry snapped, a bit more gruffly this time. "If he was the Dark Lord, and my stalker, don't you think he'd go to a hell of alot more effort to make sure there's no suspicion on him, huh? If I was a murderous Dark Lord, I would make sure to make myself as inconspicuous, uninspiring and average as possible. Not junior under-secretary to the Minister."

"Well, yeah, except you're not some serial killer Dark Lord and creep," Ron stated. "So you're not that crazy, so of course you can think reasonably on the situation now at what would be the best angle. Doesn't mean Voldemort does the same thing."

"It's just a bloody coffee. It doesn't mean anything!" Harry sighed. "Stop reading into it."

"Don't you listen to Hermione at all?" Ron asked. "Nothing never doesn't mean anything...or something. Point is, everything can be read into, and everyone will read into it. And even if you're not dating the snake, that doesn't mean he's not some creepy psycho who will put hemlock in your drink."

"No, that's the second date. Murder attempts are just rude on the first," Harry said, automatically, before he could quite himself. Ron didn't seem to find the joke funny. Tom would have laughed.

Fuck.

He was still going though.

"Harry-" Ron began, sounding a bit frustrated, and, really, this was the type of lecture he would have expected from Hermione!

"-I'm not going to let some arsehold force me to stop living my life how I want to," Harry interrupted, flatly. "Not again. I let myself be intimidated in Hogwarts into breaking up with Ginny and other things, because I was scared of people getting hurt. Well, people always get hurt no matter what I do, so I'm not going to live for somebody else. If Voldemort comes near me I will punch him in the face before arresting him."

He would be in control of his own life.  
He was.  
This was war, and war had been his playground for a long time now.

And he refused to lose.

* * *

Harry couldn't help but regret the whole agreement though, when it came properly down to it.  
He felt uncomfortable, especially after the whole thing that Ron had said about reading into things and...he was certain he'd made his stance on the matter clear to Riddle though.

This was not a date.

The worst part was that now he couldn't get the way the other had looked at him with those pointedly raised eyebrows out of his head now. It brought back memories that he would much rather have forgotten.

But that night had been a complete mistake, and they both knew that. He'd been drunk beyond belief, and stumbling into intimacy with Ginny and...everything had just been all wrong. He shouldn't have done it.

It hadn't been...all the way, but there was enough there for him to completely mortified and freaking out the next morning, enough to make him silently slip off the bed and make a valiant effort to pretend it didn't happen outside of the briefest of conversations.

He'd hoped Tom had forgotten, where he made every attempt to...but it seemed he hadn't. Damn it. It did not mean anything, and he was perfectly straight and he really didn't need any personal crap in his life right now.

The whole thing was made worse in that the Auror Department were calling in people with significant connection to the events of his past and LV. It was a discreet affair, of course, designed not to draw too much attention...but he didn't like it.

He could see the reasoning, but it was bloody well intrusive.  
And it meant Ginny was taking a day off from training with her team, the Holyhead Harpies, to come and visit the Auror Department.

Ron was happy to see his sister again, Harry - not so much. It was going to be horribly uncomfortable, he just knew it. They hadn't ended it on the best of terms.

Even back then, Ginny had been feisty and strong-willed, she'd wanted to fight for their relationship then, and not let some stalker come between them. She didn't want to be cowed to anybody's manipulations, but he'd...disagreed at the time.

The threatening messages had obviously been taking its toll on her, she was pale and tired-looking all the time, as if all the life and vibrancy was being slowly drained from her.

So he'd let her go and set her free.  
It had been for the best, even if it made his chest ache.

Tom. He was going to focus on Tom and this meaningless lunchtime coffee...screw anyone who told him it wasn't that simple. Screw his own mind, and investigation was still simple! It was his work, it was what he did, and in that respect it was easy.

"Feel free to look slightly less like you're about to be hanged," a voice said, dryly.  
Riddle. Harry shifted his weight, hands buried into his pockets.

"Feel free to make me feel slightly less like a lamb being led for the slaughter then," Harry muttered. Tom chuckled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"I don't think either of us think you're a lamb, Auror Potter," Riddle purred. Harry blinked.

"Yeah, see, you're supposed to be reassuring me that I'm not being led for the slaughter, not commenting on the use of animal reference," Harry drawled. Tom smirked.

"Don't worry, I won't put hemlock in your latte until the second date."

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to choke from how similar it was to his own joke, or choke because Tom called it a date.

"One, this isn't a date. It's two colleagues going for a coffee. Two, that's what I told Ron."

"A date is not specifically romantic, darling. It's not my fault you have a one track mind. Not that I object to your more intimately social view on the matter. Is that why you're nervous? God, you're adorable."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He had a one track mind?!

"You have no effect on my emotional whatsoever, sweetheart," he growled. "It's work stuff."

The amused expression dropped, revealing a thinly veiled concern.  
"The Voldemort case?" Tom asked lowly.

"I'm not discussing this with you."

"So it is the Voldemort case," Tom murmured, head tilting. "But not a new lead, otherwise you would have called of our coffee date."

"It's a coffee meeting. Not a coffee date," Harry said mildly.

"Hush, or you won't get a second one and I'll stop buying you lunch and coffee on Mondays."

"Ouch, you really know how to hit a man where it hurts," he sighed.

"Are you going to tell me the Voldemort problem or should I begin extrapolating?" Tom returned, weaving out into the busy London streets, hooking his arm to pull him closer, casually.

Harry scowled.

"How about we discuss your job and extracurriculars, and not mine for once?" he suggested.

"Oh but this is just so intriguing," Riddle grinned, before relenting. "Nonetheless, as you wish...my extracurriculars...let's see. My supervisor is still flirting with me, I have a Head's of Department dinner coming up, which I'm sure will be stimulating-"

"-you know work doesn't count as extracurriculars, right?" Harry raised his brows. Tom paused, before tipping his head a little with a smirk.

"You're off the job, Auror Potter, no need to get interrogative in a chat over coffee - come, in here, they do amazing cappuccinos." Tom steered him into a polished, independent looking cafe, swooping over to the table and setting them down. "And if you must know, I have a date tomorrow evening, actually."

"Oh yeah?" Somehow, Harry hadn't expected that. Of course, it could be a cover for Dark Lord stuff. "With who?"

"With you."

"Now, you're just being cocky," Harry drawled, pushing back anything else, unease or otherwise. "I'm single and I plan to stay that way."

"Even with Ginny Weasley in town?"

Harry stared at Tom for a moment.  
"Very good," he murmured. "How did you know that? And, just for reference, yeah, even then."

"I know everything," Riddle signified the waiter. "Like, for example, that your preferred coffee is a latte."

Harry held a hand up to stop the waitress from writing that down.

"Nope. Actually, I prefer Black Eyes, which are a double espresso combination. Tastes foul, gives you a great caffeine kick. I switched upon returning to England, briefly, mixing up my tastes considering my stalker."

Tom's head tilted, and a smirk crossed his lips.

"Very good," he murmured, in response. "But that wouldn't prove anything in my case, except that I'm trying to impress you, and the motivations for that could be pretty numerous. One 'Black Eye' then -though I have to say I'm surprised you don't adhere to 'Green eyes', even more expresso than and rather fitting to you -" the man turned to the server with a smile. "And you know how I take mine, Emily."

"It's good to see you again, Tom," Emily smiled, before heading away.

"You come here often? She seems smitten," Harry said.

"Jealous?"

"Not even remotely. You never answered my question, nice albeit suspicious misdirection. How did you know Ginny's coming to town?"

"They're investigating your stalker," Tom rolled his eyes. "It's the obvious deduction, especially when you're so twitchy. No doubt you're worried that LV's going to target her."  
"Why do we always end up talking about my work and Voldemort?" Harry demanded, grabbing his coffee as it arrived, taking a calming sip. "Seriously. You're not an Auror, fuck off."

"Tetchy," Tom murmured, not looking even remotely offended, giving the startled waitress a smile, and a discrete wave of his wand in an Obliviate. "He's got girlfriend troubles," he said, in explanation to Emily. "Thanks for the drinks."

She left again, and Riddle faced him once more.

"Keep your voice down, moron, this is a Muggle Cafe," the ex-Slytherin warned. "And I'm fully aware I'm not an Auror, you just seemed like you needed someone to vent at."

"I have two best friends for that."

"And yet you're here having coffee with me on your Friday lunch," Tom challenged. Harry scowled, sagging back in his chair.

"Obviously I'm worried LV, if he is Voldemort, will target her. He's already broken into my home and forced me to move, he's looking to provoke a reaction."

"Are you going to give him one?"

"If I was, I wouldn't be liable to discuss it with you," Harry replied, quietly. Tom sighed, taking a sip of his drink.

"Well then, seeing as you won't let me help a friend out on the matter, I suppose I'll have to do my best to distract you with my charming company." Tom shoved his coffee cup in his direction. "Take several deep gulps, it'll calm you down."

Harry shot him a questioning look. Tom rolled his eyes.

"I take my coffee Irish, Potter, and I like my whiskey strong. Drink. Now."

"Sir yes sir," Harry muttered, nonetheless taking a sip, before pushing it back with a grimace. "God, that is foul."

"Merlin, don't tell me you drink fruity alcopops or something, do you?" he sounded disgusted.

"Nope. Beer. Cider. Wine if I can get it."

"I really need to educate you, this is pitiful," Tom shook his head sadly. "I have a wine tasting coming up soon too, to fundraise for new additions to the Children's ward in St Mungos."

"Aren't you just a good samaritan," Harry said.

"I do try," Tom returned, not missing a beat. "It's an important cause. You can come if you manage not to embarrass me."

"Pretty sure I'll humiliate you. I'll pass, sounds awfully boring," Harry laughed. Tom smirked at him.

"Misery loves company."

Harry was surprised how easily the hour passed.

* * *

_A/N: Self control? What self control? Enjoy the update. I have an essay to get back to. Thank you for your continued support :) x_

_And haha, bet the Fate's Favourite followers amongst you are wailing in anguish at having to put up with my updating style again :P Slow gradual plot focused on scenes! It's a nightmare. You're happy I update...then pissed off muhahaha. Okay. I need to stop drinking so much fruit juice...adios for now darlings!_

_PS: Too much to have the whole nickname thing in this? Darling etc. It's kind of wired into my Tom now in my head..._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

The weekend had passed largely without event, though Harry had to admit he'd somewhat been expecting Riddle to somehow turn up at his door for the 'date' he kept joking/threatening about.

He hadn't, and Harry was exactly disappointed, because he obviously wasn't going to really date the man, but...his weekend had been rather dull. The quiet made him feel twitchy, and he was now in a new, lonely and generic safe house of a flat with just a box of his belongings, case files, and this strange plant Neville had sent him for company.

He should have got himself a cat, or something, he really should have.

Either way, he was back at work now - though Scrimgeour had discreetly questioned if he wanted a day off to process everything. He sort of wished he'd taken it now, but at the time he couldn't imagine being so pathetic. It was just blood on the walls, nothing that he hadn't seen before. He'd been to war, this was nothing new.

...and he preferred to leave the oppressive silence of his new flat and actually do something productive.

Productive and work should not have been running into a familiar fiery-haired woman. Harry's throat suddenly felt very tight as he temporarily froze in the corridor, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Ginny spotted him before he could duck and hide in Kingsley's office cubicle.

They stared at each other awkwardly for several moments, before Ginny cleared her throat, smiled, and stepped forward.

"Harry, well done on becoming an Auror! I'm proud of you...sorry to hear about all...this."  
It got even more uncomfortable the longer she spoke, and Harry wanted to find a hole somewhere to cringe in.

He forced a smile back.

"Occupational hazard or something," he murmured. "Just...be careful, alright? I don't want to see you getting hurt because of this psycho."

"It's not your fault if I do," she returned, sharply. "Understood? And this freak has no right to dictate how you live your life, or how anyone lives their life. I said that last time. I mean, they didn't tell me everything, but it's you-know-who, isn't it? Your stalker...LV."

"That's the general line of thought at the moment," Harry replied, evenly. "I shouldn't discuss it with a civilian." He should change the topic away from Voldemort, he really should. He was getting a bit sick of discussing the bastard anyway. "Last I heard you were a professional Chaser nowadays? Figured one of us would get into Quidditch. How is everyone?"

Ginny relented, somewhat reluctantly, from the topic, before brightening.

"Yeah, Holyhead Harpies," she smiled. "It's great, I love it, and everyone is lovely - off field, of course," she laughed. He'd always liked her laugh, it was so open. "Ron's probably kept you updated; but Fred and George have their joke shop now. It's going really well, I reckon people want a laugh. It's great though, and mum's come round to the idea now that she's seen how good they are at it. Charlie's still working with Dragons, Bill as a Curse Breaker...you probably know about Percy. He's still at the Ministry, annoyed that Riddle got the job he wanted." She grimaced a little. "Haven't talked to him in a while, I think he's in the Department of Magical Education now."

Harry nodded, obligingly, even if he'd heard most of this from Ron.

"I think mum's been angling to have you around for dinner for ages," Ginny added, with a grin. "She's been dying to see you. She was terribly worried about you and Ron - we all were."

"We were okay," Harry murmured. "We had Dumbledore."  
There was another awkward pause in their conversation, and Ginny sighed, studying him closely.

"Are you okay? Honestly?" she asked softly. Harry glanced at her.

"I'm fine. I mean, it's not ideal, but I'm okay. Nothing I can't handle."

"Harry," she began, sounding exasperated, just as there was another call of his name. Tom. Now he definitely wanted to hide in his office and not come out. Not that there was anything going on between him and Tom, and he had no reason to be embarrassed or anything - well, aside from old memories.

Riddle came to a halt next to him, his gaze sweeping over Ginny. He nodded at her, with a smile.

"Hello Ginerva" he said, sounding surprised.

"You know I prefer Ginny," she muttered, blushing a bit to Harry's horror.

"My apologies," Tom murmured. "Ginny. Congratulations on your last game, I wasn't expecting to run into you here."

Harry shot him a look at that. Tom ignored him.

"Uh, yeah," Ginny shrugged. "I was just seeing if I could help the Aurors out on something, when I ran into Harry."

Tom nodded in understanding.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked him, perhaps a bit more pointedly than he should have. For once, it wasn't solely due to any suspicion of Dark Lord-y-ness, but rather the overbearing weight of past regrets and history and kisses in the dark that pressed down on him.

Tom blinked back at him.  
"I work here," he said, dryly.

"Not in the Auror department you don't!" he hissed. Ginny looked between them for a moment, eyebrows raising just a little bit.

"...am I missing something here?"

"No," Harry said, probably a bit too quickly. "I'm going to go now!"  
Tom grabbed hold of his arm, and there was something gleaming in his eyes, that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Nonsense," the Slytherin dismissed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry. You're acting like you have something to hide."

He was going to kill the bastard, he really was.  
Ginny was starting to look curious.

"I have nothing to hide, do you?" he growled, eyes glued on those dark, somehow mocking ones. He didn't know why Tom was being such a twat suddenly! Though...considering how that night went he couldn't blame him seeing as Harry had skipped out and avoided him for the rest of the summer...and he wasn't thinking about that. Nope. He had enough problems in his life already!

"Only my extra curricular activities as a murdering Dark Lord intent on world domination," Tom replied, sweetly.

"Ha, bloody ha," Harry smiled, mirthlessly, glaring. "I could arrest you for that comment."

"Then you'd have no one to give you lunch and coffee. Speaking of, came to warn you that I'm not around at lunch today - so here-" a cup of coffee was thrust into his hands, and Harry couldn't help but smirk and suppress a laugh that Tom had gone to the effort of getting him something anyway.

"Aw, did you make me homemade sandwiches too?" he teased. "You're so cute."

"I have better things to do than make you sandwiches," Riddle rolled his eyes. "I'll save it to you to cook me dinner sometime in repayment."

"Ah, that'll be the time for Hemlock," Harry mused, grinning, before remembering Ginny was listening and would probably be utterly bewildered. "Not really, kind of a joke-" he trailed off. There was a blank space next to him where she'd stood. "Where'd Ginny go?"

"She left when you were making eyes at Mr Junior Under-secretary and ignoring her," Tonks called, from her cubicle, hair sprouting a vivid pink, even as she appeared admonishing too. "I'm surprised neither of you noticed. Either way, you should get to work, both of you, before Scrimgeour catches you gabbling with a Dark Lord at large. Rude, Harry!"

He grimaced.  
"...I was not making eyes at Riddle," he protested, mumbling. Tom's expression didn't change, maybe that infuriated him a little bit too.

"You go catch up with Miss Weasley for your chat then, I need to go get another report from your boss," Tom dismissed, waving a hand. "I'll see you around."

He strode off down the corridor, when a thought struck Harry. He paused, before hurrying to catch up with Tom a sec.

"Hey, where are you going at lunch anyway?" he asked.  
Tom blinked, looking at him.

"Aw are you going to miss me?" he mocked, mimicking Harry's earlier tone. "You're so cute."  
Harry spluttered, as Tom smirked.

"No! Just a question of curiosity."

"Interrogation. Aren't Aurors supposed to train you in the arts of subtlety?"

"I am subtle!"

"Of course you are," Tom said, in a slow manner that suggested the complete opposite opinion. Harry scowled.

"Good riddance, you're insufferable."

"I have a lot of work, unfortunately I can't spend all my time with you, dear."  
Then he was gone.

Harry turned to go back to his office, only to pause at the heads sticking out of offices, watching him.

"Guys, shut up!"

"You make an adorable couple," Tonks grinned. "Assuming he was not a mass murdering Dark Lord out to kill you."

"I'm going to my office now."

He felt Ron's eyes follow him.

* * *

Ginny entered her flat, untying her hair from it's ponytail as she went. She was more than ready for a nice long bath after the events of the day, and the aches of practise.

Though she'd been at the Ministry in the morning, that just meant Gwenog and her coach had her practising even later that night - though, of course, they understood that it couldn't be helped. Still, with the game against the Falmouth Falcons coming up they had to be on top form.

She tried not to think about the Ministry, Harry, and then Tom Riddle.  
It was a little disheartening that once Tom was there Harry seemed to forget she was even there, but she hadn't let it get her down.

She was fond of him, of course, but he could also be an exasperating prat with his hero complex and she was perfectly happy with her boyfriend Michael, who was playing for Puddlemere United now, as a beater.

Not that his behaviour hadn't been rude, but...still. No particularly hard feelings, even if that whole conversation had made her feel like she was even intruding and a bit of a third wheel. She didn't know.

Harry had lived with Riddle at the Orphanage, hadn't he? They'd been there once, to pick Harry up for the Quidditch final. It had looked like a rather bleak place in her opinion, and it can't have been that great as Harry refused to talk about it.

Still.

She dropped her bag, rolling out her shoulders as he walked in the bathroom to set the water running, pulling her shirt off as he walked into her bedroom to change.

She abruptly froze, before going for her wand.  
It was out of her hands before she could even think, disarmed.

Her mouth ran completely dry.

"Hello Ginny," he purred. "I think you know what this is about."

"...oh my god. You're Voldemort. You're Harry's stalker!"  
She lunged for the door.

Too late.

* * *

_A/N: Gotta dash, seeing Twelfth Night! :D Thanks for the reviews, enjoy! :D will update this A/N later..._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

Ginny felt like she was going to be completely sick.

He had her strung up like a piece of meat from the ceiling, suspending upside down, and she couldn't help but think he'd only done it to humiliate her further as she struggled for dignity.

Some hysterical part of her mind was glad she was wearing jeans, though that didn't aid her situation much. Her heart was rattling against her ribs with terror, and she had to keep swallowing back tears because that wouldn't help anything.

Was she going to die? The worst part was that she didn't know, and then she was stuck thinking of her family and how they would react, how her friends would react, to find her bloodied and broken body. Her screams and curses were muffled against a gag, her eyes involuntarily wide and frantic.

He traced his wand along the exposed soft underside of her jaw - circling her with a frighteningly soft, musing expression on his face.

"It's not really your fault," Riddle murmured. "You're one of the victims in this - much like I would be, if I allowed myself to ever be a victim again."

She glared at him, ferociously, because it was all she could do to show him her contempt. He was not the _victim_in any possible sense of the word. He was a murderer, a creep! Some sort of psycho who slaughtered without care.

She couldn't believe she'd ever found him charming; hell, she couldn't believe she'd even had a crush on him in her first year! Actually, for that matter, she couldn't believe he was the Dark Lord either.

He'd never been someone to mess with, but there was a difference between simple power and - this! He'd seemed nice. He'd seemed like he liked her, even. They hadn't been friends, but they'd been on cordial terms.

Her throat bobbed thickly.  
This was his fault. He seemed to get the gist of her protest anyway, though she almost wished he hadn't by the cruel smirk that curled the corners of his mouth. She flailed and struggled furiously as he caught her chin, thumb stroking along her jaw, soothingly.

"Did you know Harry cheated on you? When you were dating?"  
Her flailing stopped as she stared at him. She didn't believe it; Harry wouldn't do that! He was loving, flawed, but essentially a good, faithful person who would never seek to harm or hurt someone in such a manner.

"Oh yes," Riddle continued, lightly, though his eyes had darkened now. "It was summer, your first summer as a couple and that really didn't take him very long did he? I think you may have just had your first rough patch..." The end of his wand started to glow, tracing along her skin, carving as it moved and traced, singing and burning and slicing. She clenched her jaw against the gag and refused to whimper, though her eyes felt humiliatingly hot with the tears in her eyes at the pain. She squirmed away from his wand, but she was strung up so tightly that there was nowhere to go.

She had a horrible sinking feeling in her chest.

"Of course, I was delighted when he suddenly seemed interested in my company," Riddle murmured - and she really couldn't believe he was making her listen to this! What type of sick freak was he? "He was drunk out of his mind...but I'll always remember that he started it." He was silent for a moment, eyes boring into hers like a black hole, cold, merciless.

"...he left the next morning, you know. Snuck out without a word and avoided me for the rest of the summer, and most of our school day's after that too. It was very rude. He was rather more concerned with keeping you at the time. I just love how the positions seem reversed now?" he purred, looking far more pleased.

...so why was he doing this to her now? He had to know it was obvious, that Harry would catch him and lock him up for good with the Dementors like he deserved. Once again, somewhat unnervingly, he seemed to read the question on her face.

He smiled, idly flicking his wand, causing her to scream in pain, unimaginable, writing pain.  
_Cruciatus._

She was sobbing by the end of it, twitching, despite her best efforts to hold her pride, pleads escaping her lips, thankfully muffled because she wasn't stupid enough to think that they'd do any good.

"The problem lies in the fact that as much as I would like to slice dearest Harry up for his behaviour, seeing as he still hasn't given me an apology and generally needs his boundaries checked...he's much too pretty for that, and I like his eyes so it would be such a pity to take those out. Easiest way to get to our favourite hero whilst simultaneously giving both him and his department a message to stop hunting me, lest they want more people hurt? You. Sorry, Ginerva, I guess you drew the short straw."

...eyes._ Pity to take out his eyes_. She froze, before screaming and thrashing with horror as realisation struck, fighting even more.

Blackness.

* * *

Another attack.  
Harry felt bile claw up his throat as he was quickly darting to the scene. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be there...he was off the Voldemort case, but...

Extenuating circumstances.  
Merlin, he was going to be sick. Ron must be feeling a million times worse. This was his baby sister, and...

Would he hate Harry? If this was the stalker, if this...what if this was his fault? Maybe it wasn't? The scene that greeted him told him otherwise. He would have heaved, retched, and emptied out the contents of his stomach in the bathroom if he didn't have far bigger problems, and an odd sense of urgency that he couldn't place.

Ginny was alive.  
He just wondered if her being dead would be less traumatic.

Her eyes were gouged out, and she was cut up and severely battered, with an LV carved up against her hip. Tonks and the medics were with how now. She was sobbing quietly, and Kingsley was trying to question her in his calm voice. Ron immediately hurled at the sight, before doing everything to get a grip on himself and going to her side.

They'd found her left in Diagon Alley, in nothing but her underwear, tied up and shivering.

Harry stood there numbly, feeling cold inside.

"H-he was in my flat already I think, just as I was going to grab a s-shower-" her voice filtered in and out of her ears. "I didn't recognise him, he was w-wearing one of those white masks and he had his h-hood up."

"Did you recognise his voice?" Kingsley asked. Ginny shook her head, sharply, heaving for breath, stumbling over the air, shuddering and shaking all over.

"No," she whispered. "Sorry. He just t-told me t-to give this to Harry." Harry noticed the scrap of paper in her hands for the first time, and lunged for it, before anyone could stop him. Ginny let him take it...not that she necessarily knew it was him, seeing as she couldn't see him. "He...hurt me, and then he took me here."

God, he was so sorry, and he needed to say it, but Scrimgeour shot him a warning look and mouthed 'save it for later'. He smoothed out the paper instead.

Standard quill, Diagon Alley, block capitals so nothing could be distinguished from the handwriting. Standard parchment too.

TWO AT ONCE? I SUPPOSE THAT'S YOUR TRADEMARK. HAVEN'T YOU GOTTEN IT BY NOW THAT YOU'RE MINE? AT LEAST THIS ONE WAS A PUREBLOOD. TELL YOUR TEAM TO BACK OFF AND STOP LOOKING FOR ME BEFORE MORE PEOPLE GET HURT.

"Two at once?" Robard's demanded, reading over his shoulder. Harry's heart pounded in his chest...how could the stalker know about that...at least this was one was a pureblood. "What does that mean?"

Him and Tom whilst he dated Ginny. Cheating. Two people at once. Oh god. He could feel it crashing down on him, that stupid drunk mistake which insisted on haunting him...the nausea was rising in his chest all over again. Kingsley's voice seemed distant.

"Is there anything you can tell us about him? Could you recognise him in a line up?"

"Sorry, No, sorry,"she murmured. "I-it's s-strange..." she clearly tried to steel herself, wrapped up in blankets and coats. Were her eyes salvageable? "All of the details are fuzzy. I know it happened, and I know it was him...but it's just...black."

An Obliviate? Why would the Dark Lord not just kill her?  
Was it Riddle? Suddenly, he wasn't sure all over again. Tom was a half blood and...two at once.  
Two at once.

Oh god.

"Where does Riddle live?" he demanded. They looked at him as he cut over the questioning - they'd no doubt theorise in the office, away from the victim, public eye.

They stared at him.

"You're asking about him now?" Ron growled, eyes pinched with annoyance, fear, concern, accusation, rage...so many things. He held Ginny tightly. Harry swallowed.

"I think he's been attacked as well. I-I need to check."

Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed, and the man snatched the paper from him, reading through it quickly, eyeing him sharply.

"Someone get a team to Mr Riddle's house. Now," he ordered. "Potter - come with me, you too Tonks, Dawlish, Williamson. Shacklebolt, you're in charge here. Robards, stay with Kingsley, Proudfoot, Savage and Auror Weasley."

There was a round of 'yes sirs', and a crack of apparation as Scrimgeour told them the address.  
"Explain," Scrimgeour growled, as they strode up to the front door, kicking the door in. The wards around the house were shattered, just like Harry's had been, and he couldn't help but sprint in uneasily.

This was his fault.

He was on his knees next to Tom immediately, checking for a pulse, not answering his boss for now. Faint - but there. Harry was sincerely surprised, but grateful, that the man was still alive.

They had a medic looking over him immediately, transferring him along with Ginny to an intensive care ward in St Mungos. Tom's magical core was almost completely depleted, and he was severely battered from what looked to be the effects of a rather severe duel, and he looked almost dead.

He would be dead if they'd left it any longer.

Unfortunately, he was unconscious so they couldn't question him.  
Where had the Dark Lord gone himself then though? Why had he not finished off either Tom or Ginny?

He only realised when Tonks grabbed his arm reassuringly that he was starting to shake, just a little bit.

He was going to kill Voldemort, he really was, if it was the last thing he ever did.  
He was sick of the man toying with and torturing with the people around him, when it was so evident that he was the target.

He was the one being punished.

It was time to arrange himself a meeting with Lord Voldemort.  
This had to end. Whatever it took.

* * *

A/N: Chapter dedicated to GothicDebby, though I'm not sure you want it as it doesn't feel as good as my other chapters...but yeah. Hope y'all managed to enjoy it anyway :) Thanks for the continued support.

PS: Reckon I should change the rating to 'M'?


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

The room was white, beeping, and he felt like absolute shit.

Tom hadn't gained consciousness since his surgery, and Harry was on his fifth cup of cheap nasty coffee in as many hours. It burnt the corners of his mouth but he swallowed it down anywhere.

Ron was with Ginny, of course, and he'd been left to contact Scrimgeour the second the ex-Slytherin woke up. The crime scenes were both being combed for any evidence as to what exactly had happened - Moody had been contacted, and there was serious discussion about calling the man out of retirement. And of his fake eyes and where they could be purchased from.

Harry had felt a squish of relief when he remembered them; maybe Ginny would be okay. It was a lot to adjust to, and they didn't exactly look like real eyes...but she wouldn't be blind. It was something. The wounds in her eyes hadn't been magicked into something permanent and rotting which couldn't be healed by magical means, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if that was deliberate or not.

Maybe he was clutching at straws to think it was symbolic and not just pure sadism.  
It was probably both.

His thoughts skittered frantically over the events that had just occurred, leaving a lingering bad taste in his mouth. Scrimgeour had required him to give a full report about...events.

Thankfully, it didn't require every excruciating detail, but the general gist was down in black and white and Ron wasn't talking to him and neither were the rest of the department really. His boss had tried to tell him he was a moron but that none of them blamed him for Ginny or Tom's condition...but he couldn't quite believe it.

Of course it was his fault!  
His stupid mistakes, and people getting hurt on his behalf. Again. He tried so hard to help, and, sometimes, it seemed all he did was make things worse.

Tom looked so very pale, fragile - the hospital bed seemed to swallow him up and it just didn't seem right. Sure, Tom was tall, but not the tallest, or broadest bloke he'd ever met. It was his personality that was big, which seemed shrunken now, washed away in swathes of white and red.

It took another half an hour until he woke, and Harry had gone over the finer points of his plan by then. He moved forwards immediately, resting a restraining hand on Tom's chest as he immediately started to sit up, alarmed.

"Easy," he murmured. "You were attacked. You're at St Mungo's."

Tom wetted his lips, blinking, gaze slowly focusing and muscles gradually ceasing to strain as he slumped back against the white pillows.

"...you came and found me," the ex-Slytherin said, eyes wide, breathlessly stunned in a way that made Harry's insides twist. For a second there, Tom looked so very young, like he was five again. Then the expression was gone as the other sought some more dignity, wetting his lips again and - oh, right.

Harry quickly got some water, giving Tom the cup, who gave him a grimace in thanks.

"You saved my life...again" Riddle said, sounding more like himself. "Thank you. Ever my protector, right?"

Harry's insides churned at that, all over again. The bad taste soured his mouth again, and he was starting to recognise its acridness as guilt.

"You were only targeted because of me. There's no debt," he muttered, settling back in his chair a bit. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty hellish," Tom smiled, weakly. "But it's better than it could have been - and I'm sorry, I didn't see my attacker's face, before you ask."

"Did he say anything?" Harry asked, softly, even as the nurses came bustling in, no doubt noted of Tom's consciousness.

Tom shook his head, eyeing the nurses movements around him, answering their questions a little distractedly.

"He came in. I felt the wards crumbling. We duelled. I think I managed to get him though, cause he took off, thinking I was dead, rather than checking."

Harry's throat thickened with the realisation of just how close it had been.  
Tom was watching him carefully, now.  
"It's not your fault."

Harry stared back, flatly, at that - not believing it for a second.  
Tom raised his brows back.

"I'll rephrase; you don't get to dictate who I spend my time with, so don't waste either of our time by forming sanctimonious arguments about how I shouldn't see you again. It's my choice and I can look after myself and if you dare try and control my life like that you're no better than Voldemort."

Harry blinked.

"It's completely different. I'm trying to protect people, he most definitely isn't-"

"-He's trying to protect what he perceives belongs to him," Tom rolled his eyes, painfully, only to grimace, pressing a hand to his stomach. "He's possessive over you, rightly so, you're quite a catch, and I am more than willing to duel him again for you."

"...I'm really not quite sure what to say to that except that's kinda sweet but I don't belong to anyone and neither you, Voldemort or anyone else has a right to behave like jealous pricks when nothing has ever hap-" he caught himself there, but Tom had already looked down and away, swallowing. Because stuff had happened between them. "Tom, I'm-"

"-maybe you should spend less time apologising for the things outside of your control, and make more effort to apologise for and/or not do the shit that is," Tom said, a tad colder now. "Because denying your past doesn't really seem to be working so well for you right now."

Harry swallowed, staring at the wall.

"I'm sorry, alright?" he bit out. "I was fifteen. I was drunk. I freaked out, it's not exactly an unusual reaction."

"And that makes it acceptable?" Tom demanded, quietly, with a steel to his voice that Harry so often forgot could be present.

"I-no," Harry sighed. "It doesn't, but it's not like I can change what I did now, and I'd rather not see you get more hurt on my behalf."

Tom's eyes stayed on him for several moments longer.  
"Got a question, hero," the other said, sounding tired. "How is Blood Purism any worse than internalised Homophobia?"

Harry gaped.

* * *

Hermione was worried. About Harry.  
Neither of those things were particularly unusual, her best friend had a horrible habit of getting himself in all sorts of scrapes and troubles.

But he hadn't left his safe house in days, immersed in whatever he was working on. She'd only seen him when he was at work, and even there he kept his head down, didn't smile, but had an almost frightening glint of determination in his eyes.

She didn't know what exactly he was working on, but she had a pretty good idea that it was to do with the Dark Lord.

He was about to disappear back home again into his flat when she strode up to him and caught his arm. He looked absolutely dreadful; washed out like an old, threadbare t-shirt, eyes both hazy and so alert at the same time, thinner too.

"Harry, it's been a week. Come out with us, have a drink - anything," she urged. "We're all really worried about you."

He was obsessing.

"I'm really not the one you should be worried about," he replied, shrugging out her grip. "I've just got stuff I need to take care of."

"You're planning something stupid - reckless, again!" she protested, stubbornly, and she knew it was true because she'd seen that glint in his eyes before.

"I'm doing my job," he returned, stiffly.

"So if I anonymously tip your colleagues off about searching your safe house, you'd have no problem with that?" she asked, challengingly, hands on her hips. His eyes narrowed.

"Don't start. I can look after myself, I'm still here, aren't I? Besides, its becoming more than clear that the Dark Lord - because we both know that's what you're thinking of - isn't out to kill me. He's attacking everyone else, he hasn't touched me...and considering the lunatic broke into my house, I don't think it's because he can't," he growled.

Sometimes Harry was so infuriating that she just wanted to slap him.

"Two types of stalkers; love obsession stalkers. People who you might know casually, strangers etc, who the stalker develops a fixation on. Use threats and intimidation to force the victim into the role that they want, and turn to violence when that fails. Suffer from serious mental disorders. Simple obsession stalkers - someone you've had a personal relationship before, possessive, jealous and highly incapable of forming normal social relationships, believe their life has no worth without the victim and will use violence to control every aspect of their victims lives. If this sounding familiar, Harry? The violence? Patterns triggered when victim doesn't respond and advances go unwelcomed to the extent that sometimes they kill them!"

She drew in a deep breath, having rattled most of the words off without pause, glaring.

"I'm a lawyer, Harry, I've seen this happen so many times before and I don't want you to get harmed, because you know what the typical response is when you get stalked? Denial - check on that one, to try and bargain or let the stalker control aspects of their life to make the problem go away - check, that was you breaking up with Ginny. Along the line, people start getting obsessed, terrified and angry, and that makes them ready to do almost anything to get rid of the stalker." She swallowed, thickly, eyes hot and fists clenching. "So don't tell me you're okay and fine because I know the pattern and you're planning to meet him, aren't you? Voldemort?"

He stared at her for several long moments, saying nothing, before glaring at a wall and maybe that just made her even more mad.

"Harry!" It was as bad as she'd thought. "No! You can't do this on your own, you've got to talk to the Aurors, your team! They're there for you, we all are, but you can't see it because Voldemort's got so stupidly terrified of letting anyone close, of letting them help you."

"Well considering both Tom and Ginny are in hospital are at the moment, that doesn't seem too unreasonable a reaction," he bit out, scowling.

"He's isolating you!" she protested. "Making sure he's the only thing left in your life because you know what, it's so much easier destroying and controlling and manipulating one person on their own, because it's not as much of a threat as a united threat!"  
"I'm not going to watch and let him kill and torture more people just to get a reaction out of me," he hissed. "And you know what, after all this time I'd have thought you had just a bit more faith in me that I'll sort everything out in the end."

She opened her mouth, heart pounding, to tell him that she really hadn't meant it like that, that she just wanted him to be careful, to feel like he had friends he could rely on that he wasn't on his own in this, but he'd already wrenched out of her grip and disapparated with a crack.

She bit her lip, and went to go and do some research and talk to the Aurors.

* * *

Tom really was quite proud of how he'd worked everything out. He loved the Duplicatum Ritual, he really did...although, duelling himself was a markedly odd sensation.

The magical depletion of performing such powerful Dark Magic was a nice touch too, even if he'd had to flee the scene and lie low for several days as he waited for it to return, whilst siphoning enough to keep his double running. It was a bit risky, perhaps, and required a phenomenal amount of self control, but it was a more than acceptable solution in his mind.

It would fall lax by the end of the week, when he was released, and he'd got time off being the Junior Secretary to work on more important matters. He also kept an eye on Harry, of course, to see how he was reacting - as well as on all the Aurors more generally and...was really quite delighted.

Of course, Harry had no way of contacting him directly as he had no idea his identity and he'd made sure his second home, his base of operations as Lord Voldemort - his manor, as opposed to his crappy cover apartment - was untrackable to post owls and whatever other devices.

It had been a priority.

So Harry had resorted to other messages to get his attention (as if he hadn't already had it) and got his message through.

LORD VOLDEMORT, COME ALONE TO MY PLACE 11PM. IT'S ME YOU WANT, SO LET'S TALK. JUST US.

He wasn't going to follow that, naturally, it would be stupid to do so, and could obviously be a trap, but it was delightful nonetheless, and the magical signal it was pulsing out was even more breathtaking. It had clearly taken a lot of careful work to devise, it made him think he should make Harry desperate more often, if it enticed him to start using his brain and not just his brawn.

But he could hardly deny Harry a meeting when he'd so nicely requested one - or at least an official meeting. Now he just had to set it up.

In the end, it was stupidly easy and his prey went down without hitches.  
_Time to play._

* * *

_A/N: Bit of a filler, perhaps, but next chapter...time for Harry to meet Voldemort. :D Yay! Thanks for the reviews :) I think you'll all enjoy the next one. _

_PS: Do you think the story's pacing is alright? _


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine:  
There was something resting lightly on his eyes - blindfold. It was soft, silken, and yet Harry couldn't see a bloody thing through it. Only darkness.

He wetted his lips, carefully, mouth dry with the tang of unconsciousness, pulling at his restraints, trying to assess the situation.

His hands were chained above his head, with very little pull, and his feet were attached to the ground too without giving him the liberty of more than his toes being able to touch it. It made balance awkward, forcing him to more or less just hang there.

Definitely not good.  
His heart hammered in his chest, as he tested how secure he was, if he had any way of slipping his wrists free, or even his ankles, all the while listening closely for any sound.

No wind - he was inside somewhere and...his shirt was off. That was just bloody pervy! And...a rustle of fabric.  
_He wasn't alone._

This just kept getting better, didn't it? He swore mentally.

"You know," he drawled, keeping his voice carefree, "when I requested a chat I was thinking more along the lines of tea and scones." Urgh, his voice came out humiliatingly croaky instead, it was so dry. He swallowed, trying to clear it, and heard a soft, almost familiar, chuckle.

"Maybe another time," came the response. Harry stiffened as fingers curled around his chin, lifting his head some more, directing it to face in what he presumed was the direction his captor - Voldemort - was in. "But you must be thirsty; drink."

Harry pulled against the fingers to turn his head away in protest, lips thinning, clamped together.

"I assure you it's not spiked. Honestly, I have you strung up helpless in front of me, I'm not going to poison you. That would be dull, I can think of so many better ways to kill you if I wanted to. But by all means, if you want to continue this conversation all raspy..."

Harry's jaw clenched as he considered, and something-the lip of a cup-was pressed against his mouth. After some hesitation, he drank. It was water. Just water, as far as he could tell.

"There we go," Voldemort crooned, "much better. You have such a pretty voice that it would really be a shame not to hear it."

Harry heard the cup being placed down somewhere, a displacement of air as the Dark Wizard circled him, leisurely, predatorily - examining him.

He stiffened involuntarily as he felt the tip of a wand placed against the back of his neck, just above his spine, and a...hiss. Then the wand was withdrawn and.../shit/. Harry shifted, as much as he could, not sure if he was uncomfortable or not...it was weird...it...

"What the hell did you do?" he growled. It felt as if every single nerve in his body had just been switched on. He heard that chuckle again - and he was really beginning to hate it!

"Oh, it's not going to harm you, it's just rather amusing for me. It's a spell used in healing nerve damage. Basically," the other purred. "It just makes you very, very sensitive for a while, as you don't have nerve damage, intensifies everything."

A hand came to rest on his chest, and Harry jolted with shock, he could feel the warmth of skin as searing, and he opened his mouth to say something, but the Dark Wizard was already continuing.

"Pain..." the flat hand shifted, so that nails dug against his skin, and Harry hissed - more with surprise - though it was painful, as the nails raked down his torso. It felt sharp, like someone had put a match to his skin, was shredding through it and the muscle beneath it. More like a knife slash than what was probably only supposed to be a sting, a scratch...heading downwards.

_Shit._

Harry recoiled, and he could practically hear the smirk in the Dark Lord's voice.  
"_Pleasure..._"  
A hand cupped the front of his pants, and he couldn't help the shudder running through him, the electricity at the base of his spine as he thrashed against his restraints.

"F-fuck, don't - stop it - don't bloody well touch me you fucking creep!"  
Heat crept up the back of his neck, and he wasn't sure if he was thankful or not when the hand dropped away after what must have been the barest pressure of a squeeze.

"Oh, you're_ blushing_, Harry. But, anyway, ignore me...you wanted to talk. So, by all means, talk. I don't have all night, though you are currently making it very tempting to wipe my plans and schedules..."

Harry gritted his teeth, swallowing, wrists feeling raw at what was probably only the smallest chafe of his restraints.

He felt the other circle him again, fingers dragging against his skin this time - and maybe that was what allowed him to track the movement, the barest scrape of nails more teasing pain than actually causing it, that was oddly...grounding considering how his mind and everything was buzzing and the room felt too hot, too cold, and...he did not just think it was grounding.

His preplanned speech, arguments, had completely flown out of his head at the unexpected turn of events, his thoughts stuttering. He swallowed, thickly, concentrating on evening out his breathing, to preserve some scrap of dignity at least.

"Take the spell off," he bit out.

"Well I could, but like I said, it really is very amusing watching you squirm. So I don't think so."  
There was something he recognised in the quality of the voice, something so familiar, but it was difficult to concentrate on it with everything else slamming at his senses - and the Dark Lord no doubt knew that too and-the quality was one he'd heard before, but there was something to it, added layers that distorted it from what he remembered.

"I know you, don't I?" he murmured. "In real life."

"Real life?" Voldemort sounded even more entertained. "Interesting as that would suggest you place this in the realm of not real life, and hence of dreams and _fantasies_." Breath caressed the shell of his ear, and he twisted his head in the direction, as if to get rid of the sensation.

He flushed all over again.

"No this isn't one of my bloody fantasies!" he hissed. "I just meant-"

"I know what you meant," Voldemort returned, and he could still hear a grin in the other's voice. "But I'm still not hearing this conversation you were so desperate to have. I'm not distracting you, am I?" The man was in front of him again, touch skating across his ribs.

This was bloody ridiculous! It wasn't that the other - at least anymore - was even doing anything too overt, since that one time the hands hadn't strayed from his torso, and it was honestly just touching and he was a trained Auror for crying out loud that shouldn't have been affecting him! He'd dealt with far worse in the war, and it was largely innocent behaviour in the grand scheme of how the psycho could have been feeling him up. It was that damn spell, everything was heightened, and whilst LV wasn't particularly doing anything or taking it further that didn't mean he couldn't feel the intent rolling off the other.

It was the fact that it could go further, and he felt dizzy and lighted, and that really if the man decided to up this a notch then there was very little he could actually do about it when he was so firmly restrained.

His mouth was dry as if he hadn't drank in days, his breathing heavier than it should have been.

"Why are you doing this?" the question blurted out. The Dark Lord hummed at the question.

"Because I can and you have the most delightful reactions."  
The hands were far too low again for his liking, and Harry hissed as if in warning. The hands stilled on his hips, drumming an idle pattern against his flesh. He blinked at the response, before gritting his teeth all over again.

"Not this as in feeling me up. I could have gathered your reasons for that well enough," he spat. "I mean - the Dark Lord stuff, why are you doing it? Killing people? Hurting them?"

He could feel a hot anger coiling in his stomach as the true nature of his captor flooded back to him. But he had to keep stalling, that was the plan.

"Killing people is not the point, don't be stupid." There was a cold curtness to the voice now, something more professional, and nails dug into his sides, tighter and tighter until he was trying to writhe away from the pain, like a very large splinter that had been set on fire just beneath the surface of his skin, stinging. "You're not stupid, think. What's the pattern, Auror?"

Harry wanted to snap that it would be so much easier to think if the man would back off a bit, but figured he really didn't want to seem like he was encouraging this, that he didn't want to see the no doubt unbearably smug reaction.

"Blood purity," he bit out, hands clenching into fists above his head. "You're like Grindelwald. The murders prove a point to that aim; Charity Burbage was because she was a Muggle Studies Professor. Your raids target key areas of society, to seek control over it. You're trying to take over. The rest...Ginny...Tom...they were just to get at me."

"Precisely," the other said, mockingly, and the nails let up, and his shoulders sagged as if he'd just had a weapon wrenched out of his gut. It honestly didn't feel right that he wasn't bleeding. His sense of judgement was completely shot. He didn't think he wanted to know what actually getting shot under this curse would feel like. "Don't ask stupid questions in future, it's annoying and a waste of my time and yours."

"What do I have to do to make it stop? If you have me, will you stop harming the people I care about?"

"Deal with the devil?" Voldemort murmured, and he could sense that the smirk was back, as the hands too moved on, settling on his shoulders now. "I still don't think you're getting it though."

"Getting what?"  
Harry's insides churned with unease.

"I already have you, I don't need to bargain for it, I can just take. Like now, I have you, and I could continue to have you and have you as much as I like. To say I can't is insulting."

Harry lost his temper at that, and slammed his head backwards, hearing a rather satisfying crunch.

"No, actually, I think you're the one not getting it," he said icily. "I belong to nobody but myself, and I'm not some possession for you to keep. Do you really believe that I want anything to do with you?" he snarled. "You make my life hell and you hurt people, people I care about, people I love, and if you think harming then further will endear you to me in anyway you are severely mistaken, bastard. You don't get to control my life!"

There was a rather disquieting silence, and no hands on him at all anymore, just the flick of a wand, a tergeo and an episkey as the Dark Lord fixed his face.

Harry stiffened, tensing, expecting unbearable pain, the cruciatus intensified, enough to drive him mad in seconds, to break him completely. What he didn't expect was for the silence to shatter as the other started laughing again, swooping forwards, pressing a sharp, short kiss to his lips before withdrawing.

"You are the most adorable, oblivious, defiant little thing I've ever seen," Voldemort cooed. He was mad, insane, he couldn't be anything else! If Harry could see, he would have stared incredulously. As it was, another idea sparked in his head, building onto existing plans in his head. "I'm not hurting them to control you, why would I want to control every aspect of your life when watching you start coming to me of your own accord, willingly, is better in every possible way. Whether you accept it or not, doesn't actually change a thing. You're still mine."

Somehow, that statement, delivered so casually, terrified him more than anything. A shiver crawled down his back.

"That's not going to happen."

"...so you didn't track me down today then?" the other asked innocently, and he'd stepped closer again, and those nails were raking in again-no, not nails, not the right thing...wand. Carving. Punishment, however light the other's tone had remained, a hand on his other hip to steady him and hold him still, bruisingly tight or so it felt. He couldn't tell anymore. Everything had messed up his hand, the pain and the pleasure blurring together completely, unrecognisable from each other. He felt something coppery in his mouth, and realised he must have been biting his lip to stop from crying out. His side felt wet too, sticky and hot.

Blood.

It took several moments, panting, to feel coherent again.

"Why are you hurting them then? If it's not to control me? To punish them? To punish me?"

"The latter," Voldemort replied. "I don't honestly care about them."

"What are you punishing me for? Having friends?"  
He could feel the annoyance tightening in his jaw again.

"No. For hurting me." The tone was serious, the previous edge of playfulness gone.

Harry was...absolutely stunned.  
"I don't know who you bloody well are, if I did...I could stop doing whatever I'm doing to upset you, right?" he spoke carefully. "I'm sure I didn't mean to do it. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Nice try, Harry. I'm not taking the blindfold off or telling you my identity. That would be rather stupid."

"Then tell me what I've done," Harry said. "And stop hurting my friends for my mistakes." He could have been holding his breath, and every breath hurt anyway now. His throat felt thick, and everything was too intense and overwhelming. He felt like he could pass out, but he couldn't, that wasn't in the plan. There was a pause, silence.  
"I'm still not hearing a valid question or proposition on why I should be gracing you with my presence, or were you just looking for interrogative small talk in general?" Voldemort questioned. Harry could have throttled the man in frustration. "Perhaps you just wanted to get close enough to attack me?"

And Harry could finally feel the tables turning in his favour again, and smirked.

"You really think I didn't assume that you would force me to meet you on your terms? However much you say it was punishment, the controlling element in your behaviour is more than clear. Not to mention, if I was you, I would think it pretty stupid to meet an Auror on his terms."

He felt the mood shift...but not how he'd expected. Hands were on his shoulders, and he still tried to ignore the feeling of contact, the goosebumps rising automatically on his skin, even more so at the lips that grazed his ear as the other spoke.

"Oh _very_ good," Voldemort purred. "Is the place surrounded? Tracker? What did you do? You were stalling, weren't you?"  
It was disconcerting how pleased the other wizard sounded of him, fond, proud, intrigued and delighted.

Harry suddenly realised that the man was probably ecstatic that he was playing back. He didn't know how that made him feel.

He turned his head to the side, feeling their mouths brush as the Dark Lord have no indication to move back from where he hovered, and it infuriated Harry that he had Voldemort's identity literally inches away from his face if only he could see it.

"Surrounded. I made a tracker, so they could follow me, especially on the assumption that you might take me to your base. You seem a bit obsessed with me and all."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," the man breathed. "The problem is that I seem to be the only one who has always believed that you are far cleverer than you let people believe, so I have a contingency escape plan. I suppose it seems our time is up then. It's been a pleasure, really, you should see yourself. I'll consider your proposition regarding the safety of your friends, and get my counter terms back to you."

Harry waited, and, as he'd almost suspected, the man pressed another sharp kiss to his lips again, probably his somewhat twisted form of goodbye, and Harry took his chance - latching on, biting. In a way, that was easier than he could see, tearing and shredding at the other's lips. The other made a noise of genuine surprise - and he couldn't help but feel smug that he'd done something the Dark Lord hadn't anticipated. A hand wrenched into his hair, pulling him back, and he whined at the loss of contact, the spell still going strong, searing against his mouth.

"...I'll look for someone with messed up lips at work tomorrow."

"I think I like your methods of interrogation."  
He could hear yelling now, the tramp of feet, and something settling tightly around his throat, leathery, not constricting his breathing, but he could feel it there. "I just can't have you sharing with the class. You'll see - till next time..."

He heard the door burst open, and then he was getting unhooked and the blindfold was being torn off - too bright, and the sensitivity faded along with the Dark Lord's disappearance.

"Where is he?" Robards growled. "Spread out and search - oh my god, Potter."  
"You're a bloody reckless fool," Scrimgeour snarled, steadying his arms. "You don't do shit like this on your own...I told you to pull the plug on this plan, that it was too dangerous. He could have killed you on sight! What happened?"

Harry paused, holding up a slightly shaking hand, miming, conjuring paper and pen.

GET ME A SWAB.

He was given one, and they all stared as he promptly started wiping his mouth, inside and out, and there was blood and his whole body felt odd now.  
He dropped it into Scrimgeour's hand.

"Run forensics. I think I may have just got you a DNA sample."

* * *

_A/N: Um, yeah. Hope that was adequate and not too weird/bad a 'first' meeting? Explanations next time, aftermath...etc..._

_PS: Sorry 'bout the hold up and weird FF error in that you couldn't get to the chapter (hope you can now...) don't know what happened there. Site error. Chapter 10 doesn't exist yet, sorry if I got your hopes up, I was just screwing around trying to get this chapter to work..._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

In his excitement, Harry had forgotten that they didn't do DNA in the British Ministry and Auror Department. He was too used to the games of war, abroad, where they used everything possible - magical or muggle - to gain an advantage on the opposite.

It was so different off the battlefield, in the Ministry there were far more lines, regulations, rules, suffocating amounts of paperwork and polite politics that pinned them down from acting. They were just so...stuffy! Stiff against change, having to do everything in the traditional way when he was pretty certain not all their enemies were playing by the same rule set.

It was infuriating.

He managed to get the DNA pushed through anyway, though Harry suspected it was more desperation than any real faith in the powers of muggle science. It would take a couple of days for the results to come back from the lab, however prioritized this investigation was, as they couldn't use magical methods to speed up something so alien and delicate.

But he had a week, and then Lord Voldemort would be tagged and behind bars for good.  
Oddly, that wasn't what concerned him right now.

It was what the man had put around his neck, and carved into his side in a sickening synchronicity.

LV.  
It was bloody, not too deep - not designed to be permanent, which he couldn't help but feel breathlessly relieved by.

Somehow, even that wasn't the worst.

The Aurors had asked him if he could identify LV by his voice, anything, tell them what had happened in the confrontation so it could be analysed for further clues.

And he couldn't speak a word of it.  
None of it would come out, his throat would tighten until he felt dizzy, and the leather wrapped around his neck along with it.

_The fucking collar_. He eyed it in the mirror now, cheeks flushed with a furious embarrassment.  
He was amazed none of his colleagues had pointed it out. He figured the rest of them were trying to be tactful.

It was clearly a way to stop him talking, a deliberately mortifying jab at him simultaneously. He'd spent the last half an hour trying to prise it off, but it was just stuck. It was clearly cursed and spelled to block his speech on the topic of Voldemort, though he was sure if he ran into the bastard and recognised his voice that he could still indicate.

At least he had the DNA.  
He would take that as a victory, he had to, because otherwise he just felt crappy about the whole meeting.

He didn't really believe that he'd be able to identify the Dark Lord by chapped lips, there were spells and balms for that type of thing, but it worked as a ruse perhaps, and distracted the man. Not to mention, it allowed him to get the dna, to tear at blood where he was too restrained to attack in any other way.

His main hope had been to stall for the rest of the Aurors to arrive, to sweep the place and capture Voldemort, but that hadn't quite worked out.

But Voldemort was a Blood Purist, he hated muggles and muggle things, so it seemed more plausible to be able to defeat him using such methods, because whilst the man seemed clever and had no doubt plotted against being revealed in magical methods, Harry doubted he'd be as armed against muggle means. He no doubt thought they were inferior, and not worth learning.

He just wished his mind would stop spinning over their meeting, the fingers trailing across his skin, the lips against his ear and their lips warring with tongue and teeth.

The sooner this was over the better.  
And it would be over soon.  
It had to be, and then things would go back to normal.

* * *

Tom thought the whole thing had gone rather well, everything considered.

The only tragedy was that he hadn't had more time to play, it would have been fascinating to see what he could accomplish over an extended period of time.

Oh, nothing too overt, nothing Harry would agree to - he did rather like consent, in this scenario. Perhaps that was a stretch in his personality, indeed, most would consider it strange to have anything so close to morals, even if it was one this one small manner.

He blamed his parents. He'd spent the longest time, once he discovered his past, and before, despising them for abandoning him in that awful place - and his mother for being too weak to stay alive for him, but his father more.

When he was very small, he'd entertained the possibility that his namesake simply didn't know of his existence, that if he did, he would bring him into the home and raise him with no pain or extravagance spared.

What a foolish, childish dream.  
He'd killed the bastard, for abandoning him, even as the traitor sobbed out his story and pleaded for his worthless life.

At the time, he'd thought that maybe he should feel something, a link, a connection of empathy, but there was nothing. He didn't care about the man, could scarcely call the uninspiring muggle father...

Everything had been so disappointing.  
He couldn't even be proud of his mother, though her heritage was great, Slytherin, he'd found his relatives to be decrepit and disgusting.

Pathetic, the lot of them.

But maybe something in his father's story had stuck, just a tiny fragment.  
Love Potions. Consent.

He wasn't stupid, and whilst he never held morality in any high esteem, he could recognise the general morals of society even if he didn't personally apply them to himself and his greater aspirations.

That had been rape, essentially, however much it was called a 'love' potion. At least, he'd assumed it was. People really did give so many mixed messages on the thing. If Harry was under a Love Potion, would everything be correct? Maybe.

For him, he was more concerned with being so wretchedly pitiful that he needed to resort to such things. He hadn't been lying; it would be so much more fun if Harry came to him willingly. Whilst he didn't mind things rough, indeed, he prefered it, he reckoned he might have prefered them consensual too.

It was greater power to have someone submit themselves to you, to trick and manipulate them but not force them into yielding to whatever you want, to give them the chance to say no whilst knowing that they never would. That was true power, and true possession.

He didn't want the cheap imitation his mother had, not with Harry.  
Besides, hadn't worked out well for her, had it? He left the second he could, and unless he played this more cleverly, he had no doubt Harry would do the same if he drugged him and allowed him to be undrugged.

Not to mention, it wouldn't be real, would it? Largely, he didn't care about such things either. Reality existed in the mind, on a subjective level, filtered through ideology and sense particles.

There was a point there somewhere.  
Either way, whilst he'd considered just taking, he wouldn't, and so the games they played were of a higher level in his opinion.

He could keep Harry chained up and own him, he had no qualms about that, he could feed him and not allowing him to see or hear so his whole world became Tom, and, without him, everything faded away too.

He could make hours be several days, days feel like weeks.  
He wanted to worm his way under Harry's ribs, into his blood and every part of him where he couldn't get washed away, and take control, to always be there, to have Harry need him and depend on him, to feel empty and wasted if he wasn't there.

That couldn't be accomplished in a single moment, and the entertainment was in the game, the slow weaving of webs to tease out exactly what he wanted.

Harry was lashing out at him so far, but he'd come to find him, he'd kissed him, however much he was convinced there was an ulterior motive behind such things.

He should have played with the man's senses more, but he still had time for that, to watch him unravel and peer at the raw truth and everything normally kept carefully under wraps beneath layers of ordinary drudge.

And then there was the Prophecy to consider. He didn't know all of it, but he wouldn't be reckless. Grindelwald had already proved that to be an unwise decision, forced into hiding by his hasty attack.

But he wouldn't blame the other Dark Wizard for that, not when it had brought Harry to his orphanage.

It was interesting though.

He read through some more of his paperwork - some drivel from the Department of Magical Sports about the oncoming Quidditch World cup that he didn't really care about but had to check over.

He wondered if Harry would come check on him now that he was 'outside the hospital'. He hoped he would, he knew he would.

Now he was just on tenterhooks waiting for the knock on the door.  
It was nearly lunch time when it came.

* * *

"Hey," Harry murmured, stepping into Tom's office, feeling rather awkward about being there. "Thought I'd come check on how you were doing."

Whilst Tom was in the Auror Department from time to time on errands, and he saw the other on lunch breaks every so often, or on the roof on Mondays for tea and chips (or whatever it was Tom was supplying that day...he did feel a bit guilty about stealing lunch off the man, actually, he'd meant it as a joke initially), he'd never actually been in Tom's office.

It was a bit high up for him, and reminded him again that the man was some hot-shot rising Politician.

But he still felt guilty that Tom had been hospitalised because of him, so he'd sucked it up, even if he was very nervous that LV would catch wind of this and just attack again.

That was another good reason for kissing the git, the hopes it might placate him against murdering or mutilating any more of his ex's.

And bloody hell that was messed up.

"Kind of you," Tom replied, giving a gesture to the chair opposite his desk. "I was just about to get off on my lunch break, care to join-are you alright? Harry?"

Harry suddenly felt like his head was swimming as he stared at Tom, mouth dry with a bad taste scraping against his teeth. That voice...he should stop staring now, wide-eyed, not be too obvious.

"I-yeah," he forced a smile to his lips. "I'm fine. I wasn't the one hospitalised."  
_Tom was Voldemort._

It felt like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room.  
He'd...of course he'd considered the possibility, strongly suspected at times even, made jokes, but...confirmation had a very different flavour.

"Anyway, I just came to see how you were doing, I should be getting back-"

"Harry, I can tell what you're thinking, but how could I possibly be Voldemort when I was in hospital at the time of your meeting with him? You can check with the nurses, I didn't leave my bed," Tom said, sharply. "Sit down. Now. Don't do anything...rash."

Harry turned, expression hard, eyebrows raising, wand in hand to which Riddle had his own immediately pointed too.

"And how would you know when I met with Voldemort? Got a convenient little 'report' already?" The hospital thing did give him pause though. "And how would you know I think you're Voldemort so suddenly?"

If Tom was innocent, he would have no way of knowing it was his voice, that had slid over his ears where he couldn't see.

"Sit down, please, and I will explain everything," Tom sighed, looking exhausted and drained, running a hand through his hair. "Don't you think you owe me that? Not in the least because my attacking and almost killing myself doesn't fit either."

"You could have got someone else to curse you," Harry returned, flatly.

"Are you really that eager to condemn an innocent man to Azkaban, or so suspicious of me, that you're not willing to even take five minutes to listen?" Tom nearly spat, before his tone softened, eyes lost. "After everything...I...I thought better to you. You know how Scrimgeour feels about me, do you really think he'd give me fair trial and testimony? Harry, please...there are things you don't understand."

Yeah, he'd gathered that by how much this was screwing with his head. He glared at Tom, frostily, but, after a moment, heart pounding, came away from the door.

"Drop the wand and I'll listen to you. Don't even think about trying anything."  
Tom placed his wand on the desk immediately, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"Explain," Harry bit out, acidly.

"Lord Voldemort is my brother."

Harry stared for a couple of seconds, incredulous, before laughing, without humour.

"You can't seriously expect me to believe-"

"-This is exactly why I didn't say anything," Tom hissed, eyes wild. "It's out of a stupid book, I know! It's unbelievable, it seems desperate. But it's true. It's half brother, really. Same mother, different father. Older than me by a year."

Harry shook his head, honestly not knowing what to say.

"Harry," Tom grabbed his hand, with an urgency. "I'm a halfblood, why the hell would I be promoting blood purity? You've heard my arguments against my being Voldemort before, I-my brother, Salazar Gaunt...well, you've probably heard how some of the old lines can be incestuous. He was the product between my mother and my uncle, Morfin. Filthy, horrible thing. That's the type of thing that fucks people up, and it's dirty, which is why there becomes such an obsession on purity within the old families, because it justifies the inbreeding."

"You could just be very good at bluffing-" Harry began. He was once more interrupted.

"Bring on his obsession with you. You're connected to me, and, well...you're probably aware of my...feelings for you." Tom looked down, a slight flush on his cheeks. "He's taken that...distorted it, twisted it...and fuck. I just-people started dying, and I was trying to get my career going, and to be cool and you wouldn't hate me...I didn't want to bring this up. Ever. I just...hoped it would go away."

"And Hogwarts?" Harry questioned. "How do you explain the events at Hogwarts? Are you telling me he was magically there? I'm pretty sure I would have known the name Salazar Gaunt in my year."  
"No. But it's easy enough to send letters in. I-he's my brother. When I found out about him, of course I wanted to keep in contact, especially when...well, you'd just disappeared for the summer because of, er, everything...he was there. He was family. I wanted to trust him." Tom's voice was painfully small. "I talked about what was going on around Hogwarts...I...I didn't know what he was going to do with the information, I swear I didn't! I never even knew about this until it came up in the investigation!"

Harry's brain was buzzing, and he honestly didn't know what to think...this had to be some kind of joke, right? A ploy? But surely Tom wouldn't expect it to work? And yet...what if it was real? It would explain the similar voices.

And Tom couldn't be in two places at once, could he? With a Time Turner, yes, but he couldn't affect himself in that period...was there a spell he could have used? Either way, with the collar around his neck, he couldn't tell the Aurors about Voldemort himself, though he was pretty sure he could jump up and down and point at Tom.

His fists clenched.

"I think you should come down to the Auror Department now, quietly."

_He needed air. _

Tom bit his lip, nodding.  
"...so we can't just keep this between ourselves? I mean, my job is going to be in pieces if I'm associated with him. Bricks in my window. My life will be over." His voice started gaining the old strength. "This could ruin me, isn't there another way?"

"Just - come on! We'll figure something out, but this out of my hands."  
Tom followed him, down towards level two.

They were in the lift when the explosion reverberated through the building.

* * *

_A/N: Er, happy Valentine's day (gah, I hate it), but anyway...consider this some kind of present for all you lovely reviewers 3 I need to go back to my truly exciting, romantic night of working on my essay now..._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

Harry felt the lift rock violently with the force of the explosion, sending everything crashing to a halt as it hit them, shrapnel everywhere as he curled up to protect himself from impact. He felt a weight pinned down on top of him where Tom had been thrown too, and they both simultaneously formed what magical shields they could, to keep the worst of the shrapnel and rubble from crashing down on them. Tom's arms wrapped around him, protectively, warm against his back, hair tickling his neck.

His ears felt like they could burst at the loud screeches, and the sounds of bangs and yells, before everything went ominously silent.

It felt like forever when the dust settled, as he coughed, one hand clutching his wand tightly.  
He had a really bad feeling in his stomach, which was only emphasised when Tom didn't immediately let go of him. He twisted his head to see if the other was still consciousness, trying to scramble up and investigate, help the wounded, every instinct churning as screams of panic and fear filled the air around him.

Tom's eyes were very much open, fixed on his face.  
He was smirking.

It was a cocky, vibrant sort of smirk.

"Did you almost believe it for a second, Harry?" the ex-Slytherin purred.

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. He rolled over, only for Riddle to grab the front of his shirt and haul him up, pressing him up against the broken angles of the lift...hanging in space between departments, just clinging to the rails in tarnished gold.

The wizard from Magical Maintenance was there too, emerging from the shrapnel, blinking blearily.  
"_No_!" Harry began, but Riddle - Voldemort - flicked his wand carelessly in the man's direction.

Stunner.  
Not the Killing Curse.

Harry almost felt relieved, and in a second had wrestled Riddle off him, only for the Dark Lord to raise his wand in the direction of the maintenance wizard again. Something begin with R? Harry didn't know his name, but the action and the intent in Tom's eyes froze him, wand hovering. The warning was clear.

The other smiled at him, all too pleasantly.

"What have you done?" Harry breathed, horrified.

I'm sorry, there seems to have been a problem. Please hang on whilst we get this fixed. We hope this hasn't caused you any inconvenience. Thank you for your patience.  
The cool, calm female voice grated severely on his nerves right now, but he'd never liked the autonom voice even when it announced which department he'd arrived at that.

"I had one of my associates set off a bomb in the Auror Department," Riddle replied, carelessly. "You'll imagine I had to stall your return. I knew you'd visit me you see. You should have seen your face though. I think I might have murdered you if you were stupid enough to believe what I was waffling.""

"I didn't believe you actually had an evil brother," Harry growled, though that was the last thing he should be annoyed at now, that assumption. But he honestly hadn't, he just thought it better to play along and get the psycho into the Auror Department. His fists clenched. "And not in the least because aside from the absurdity of the whole thing, Salazar Gaunt is a stupid name."

"You wanted to believe it though," Riddle returned, an altogether smug glint in his eyes that made Harry want to hit him.

"You're insane."

"I'm a visionary, Harry. All those who move forward in a backwards world, who move up when the teeming masses move downwards in their own filth, would be seen as insane. Sanity is a construction of society after all," the man murmured. Harry resisted the urge to swallow, a wrathful scarlet haze descending over his eyes.

His skin felt hot, crawling. Whilst he'd had his suspicions about Tom Riddle, the other had never really been the priority of his attention. They hadn't even really been friends. What scared is that they might have been, if circumstances were different.

"You said you'd stop hurting people I cared about."

"I also told the Aurors to stop hunting me. It seemed they needed a reminder," Tom said.

Harry's eyes narrowed.  
"I don't know what you think this is accomplishing, I'll arrest you and have you caught the second the lifts are on again." The loss of life on regards to the Magical Maintenance Wizard was tragic, but this was war, and if he let Lord Voldemort walk free thousands more would suffer for it. He couldn't allow it. He would attack, even if Tom killed the man as a result.

Riddle hummed, and it almost ached how his personality hadn't really changed, just shifted a bit, with layers stripped off and added.

"Oh you really are adorable, Harry. Ever the soldier." Tom surveyed him more seriously now, dark eyes intent upon his person, too hungry, seeming to devour his every reaction and steal it for some twisted corner of his mind. "I think you are a very good soldier, and you have amazing qualities on the battlefield you are used to, including gorgeous duelling capabilities. But I think you flounder here, because the Ministry is my world and not yours. Here there's politics and certain boxes that need to ticked and checked, lines that can't be crossed and measures that can't be taken by an Auror in your position. That's why you're losing, you're aligned with those whom you can't flourish to full potential around."

"If my full potential is being as disgusting as you, then I think I'd rather stay stunted," Harry snarled. Tom raised his brows.

"Even if that means you won't catch me?" he purred. Harry's teeth bared.

"Careful, your leverage won't save you for long," he warned, coldly. "I attack, you kill him, you have nothing to stop me from decimating you with my gorgeous duelling capabilities."

"I think I touched a nerve."

"You-"

"-but I don't think you want to turn me into the Aurors, leverage or not," Tom shrugged, that smile on his face again. Harry snorted with disbelief.

"Enlighten me on why I won't let you rot with the Dementors?" he questioned, too lightly, raising his eyebrows. "Whatever fondness I may have ever had for you is assuredly gone, now that my suspicions on you have been confirmed. They were the only reason I didn't have you suffer a tragic accident on the spot!"

Voldemort laughed, rather merrily considering the situation.

"Now you sound like me." He shook his head as if to dismiss the fact, even as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "I have been around longer than you, and have infinitely more connections than you. Say you catch me, in this world, in my kingdom...do you really think it will stick? There are so many people in the Ministry who agree with my cause, whether silently or more openly, that it would shock you. They'll bail me, if I even get convicted in the first place. You realise the majority of the Wizenamagot is made up of Purebloods, don't you?"

Harry felt like he'd been sucker-punched, even if in some horrible sense he knew it was true. Every high up in the Ministry, largely, was a Pureblood, and many of them could be persuaded to Voldemort's cause. Bile clawed up his throat, and he kept his eyes glued on the other.

Tom's eyes gleamed.  
"Now you're getting it, Harry."

"Perhaps it won't stick, but you won't keep your prestige," Harry said, taking a step forward, chin defiantly up, and Riddle showed no inclination of caring about his approach. "You won't keep your position in the Ministry, and you'll no longer have the same power base and networking abilities. People will see you for what you are-"

"-And what am I?" Tom murmured, in the same velvet tone that was threatening to whisper uneasily through his dreams at night. Harry gritted his teeth.

"Murderer. Traitor to the state. You're not a Dark Lord - you're nothing but a glorified serial killer!"

"You think I'm glorified?" Tom's eyes widened, mockingly. "Thank you very much. Means a lot, coming from you. I mean, I know I'm magnificent, but it's nice to hear you acknowledge it too."

"I think you're a little creep with daddy issues," Harry returned, icily.  
Tom's gaze cooled at that, and Harry grinned sharply.

"Perhaps you can get me fired from my job and cast out of the Ministry, do you believe that will help your case? You'll have no way to track me, and I'll have no inhibitions on my time and energy," Riddle replied simply. "I'd have all the time in the world to plot, and gain further control of this country whilst you slog at paperwork. There'd be no constraints against me visiting each and everyone of the people you love and slaughtering them."

"You don't seem to have all too many constraints right now if you can be in two places at once," Harry spat, heart hammering. "And who knows, there's been a truly devastating explosion and help isn't here. Who's to say you didn't get your head smashed open and tragically bleed to death?"

"Oh I love it when you talk murder to me," Tom drawled. "It's so sexy."  
Harry flushed, furiously, and the next second he'd just lunged, temper snapped.

Then they were duelling.

* * *

It was exhilarating.  
Tom could feel Harry's power clashing and tangling against his own, not giving an inch, fierce and violent and purposeful.

Not a single spell or flex was wasted, everything was honed to a ruthless efficiency that in another circumstance would make his mouth water.

_This_ was why he wanted Harry so badly, not his eyes however pretty they were, or the kindness of his heart that just made Tom want to steal it and see how much he could pull and push and twist at the strings..._this_. The power, that breath-taking power he'd recognised when Harry had leaped to protect him, even if the boy hadn't been aware of his own magic at the time.

He had no objection to aesthetic beauty, of course, and he loved all manner of rare things in fleeting fancies. But it was this power that held his obsession eternally, this magic.

Some people liked women, some people liked men or both, some people sapiosexually adored intelligence (and he could hardly judge them for that, indeed, he didn't think he could tolerate stupidity himself) whilst others were asexual, whether romantically or not, and had no concerns on the matter either.

He himself found the power the most alluring criteria of all.

And Harry had power, more so, he had a power that had the potential to match his own, and infuriatingly denied Tom the opportunity to play with it.

Of course, the downside was that Harry was an incredible duellist and, whilst he had honed his own skills and considered himself an exemplary duellist, Harry might just have the edge to him on this battlefield.

Because this was where Harry's training had gone, where he was lacking in politics, this was his field.

He found himself immediately forced on the defensive, dodging those reflexes, trying to land a blow of his own, aware that in their cramped space one misstep or falter in his shields would mean disaster and maybe even death.

Dark Wizard catcher or not, Harry hadn't trained himself to take prisoners.  
He'd taught himself how to win, how to kill.

It showed.

If even one of their spells actually hit right now, it would be game over.  
But he didn't want Harry dead. If he did, he would have killed him already. But Harry's duelling style was ruthless and unforgiving, and though he was getting his own curses back, in such an enclosed space it was difficult to duel properly and utilize his preferred style.

They'd both almost fallen off the edge of the lift already, or nearly tripped over the Magical Maintenance fool.

So he lunged instead, hands closing on Harry's shoulders as they crashed hard against the floor. Rubble cut and tore at their skin, and there was blood in his hands and against Harry's knuckles as the man adapted to physical fighting without pausing, keeping his movements tight and close to his body.

Noses crunched, teeth rattled, ribs broke and fingers snapped in a torrent of magical energy. They'd be drawing attention now.

Finally, however, he found himself shoved face-first against the crumbling wall of the lift, arms yanked behind his back and a wand digging into the hollows of his throat. The heavy panting reminded him of different acts entirely, and he twisted his head to give Harry a bloody smirk over his shoulders.

"I always imagined I'd be the one pinning you to walls, Harry," he purred. "What's next, the handcuffs? Kinky."  
Magi-cuffs clicked more tightly and sharply than necessary around his wrists, biting at his skin before he was pulled around again, head being shoved back once more with Harry's hand on his throat, squeezing.

He wetted his lips, feeling the world begin to pop, dizzy and light and nauseous as he couldn't get air to his lungs.

"You're under arrest for the murder of Charity Burbage and countless others in affiliation with the self-named Dark Lord Voldemort," Harry said, icily. "You have the right to remain silent, and anything you do say can be used against you."

Tom raised his brows, deliberately locking their eyes together.  
Then he just threw back his head and_ laughed._

* * *

_A/N: So, um yeah. You guys get some back story in the next chapter, among other things :) Though I'm going to make a valiant effort to update Solace in Shadows first...  
Thanks for the reviews. Hope you enjoyed the update. _


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

Harry dragged Riddle out of the lift the second he could, ignoring the gaping stares he was receiving from anyone around him. Tom, the bastard, was perfectly composed, and infuriatingly graceful even was he was getting shoved around with his hands behind his back.

"What's going on?" someone demanded. "Tom-"

"It's fine," Tom said, smoothly, with a gracious smile. "Auror Potter is merely attempting to do his job. I'm sure everything will be sorted out soon enough, rest assured."

It just made him want to throttle the git, and instead he just continued to forcibly drag him towards the Auror department, to the never used stairs, seeing as the lift was still down. People would stop staring once Riddle went down for being Lord Voldemort, because he would, Harry would make sure of it.

They ran into the Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy, Pius Thicknesse who was the overall Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or which the Aurors were a faction of, and an accompanying entourage on the stairs. The former blinked at them and the situation, whilst Malfoy raised a cool eyebrow and Thicknesse studied them curiously.

Amelia Bones had originally been the Head of Department, but she'd been transferred and replaced by Thicknesse, and whilst maintaining a high position with the Department, was head of the Wizenamagot Administration services.

"What's going on here?" Fudge puffed, taking his lime green bowler hat off and twisting it in his hands. "Don't you think there's enough trouble right now without unnecessary-"

"He's Voldemort," Harry explained, flatly. There was a moment of silence, before Fudge just huffed out an incredulous laugh.

"You're being absurd. I think I'd know if my own under-secretary, who has my personal recommendation and trust, was a murdering Dark Lord and criminal," the minister sniffed.

Harry had an uneasy feeling in his gut.  
"It's fine, though I thank you for your faith in me," Tom murmured. "I'm sure this is all some sort of horrible misunderstanding."

"Indeed," Lucius said. "Mr Potter has been out of the country for a long time. He has yet to come to the full understanding of everything you've done, and the services you have performed for our nation."

Yeah, but Malfoy was probably one of those Death Eaters, so he would say that!  
Harry tightened his grip on Tom, opening his mouth to speak.

"That, and he cheated on me with his ex-girlfriend so he's very eager to get me out of his life," Tom added, sadly. "I always thought he was better than such vendettas, but I guess I was wrong."

Harry's cheeks burned, his eyes flashing with fury.  
"You bastard-" he began.

"I guess threatening my silence wasn't enough for him, especially when I refused to keep our relationship a secret anymore. He just exploded. I wouldn't say he was spiteful enough to set off a bomb in the Auror Department just to frame me, but..."

"Why would I set off a bomb in my own department?" Harry growled. "Alternatively, Minister, Riddle would have to be very smooth talking to be able to convince everyone of his good reputation, and is now attempting to frame me because he doesn't-"

"-I HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT NOW!" Fudge interrupted, and Harry suddenly noticed his face had grown increasingly red. "Just take each other down to the Auror department where a proper investigation can be launched and stop complaining to me about it. I have the Daily Prophet out for my blood and my statement, I do not have time to listen to your lover's tiff."

"We're not lovers-" Harry began.  
"Pius, lend one of your men to make sure the boys get down to the Auror department, and then the cells. They can both be interrogated there."

"I'd be happy to do so myself, Minister," Thicknesse said, smoothly, taking hold of Harry's arm with some distaste to lead him away from the seething man and further down the stairs. "But I understand if my presence is necessary here - Yaxley."

Tom's eyes gleamed with an all too obvious amusement which just seemed to taunt him. He gripped his wand tighter as they went down another crowded flight of stairs as everyone moved around in panic.

Finally, however, they reached Floor 2.  
It was absolutely destroyed.

Harry felt a cold creep into his gut even more, and he had to clamp down on his urge to go and find and check on all of his friends and colleagues. A surge of hate for Tom ran through him, that the bastard would do this.

The worst part was that the whole wreck of offices was also covered in little calling cards, business cards, with a snake-tongued green skull, an LV, and what looked like a list. Harry glanced at Tom, who was looking back at him all too innocently now, as he stooped to pick one of the black cards up. It was elegantly done, and somehow he hated it even more for that - for these elaborately made little cards in the middle of such destruction.

I will only deal with Harry Potter in the Auror Department, and any other Auror who attempts to investigate or hunt me will find themselves and their families killed as obstructors of the new reign of justice. Consider the bomb that just went off a warning.  
Enjoy your day.

Bile immediately clawed up his throat, even as Scrimgeour came charging up to him, only to pause at the sight of Malfoy, and Riddle in his handcuffs.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, only for his throat to once more constrict. But he wouldn't let that bloody well stop him! Not now! Shooting Tom a ferocious glare, he picked up a quill and parchment.

RIDDLE IS VOLDEMORT.

"What happened to everyone else?" he asked. "Are they alright?"

"Weasley, Tonks and Kingsley are all in hospital," Scrimgeour said. "They should be fine. Robards is in critical and Proudfoot is dead. Savage and Dawlish are fine. Take him to the cells. We're sweeping the building now for further explosive substances. We'll talk later...be careful."

"Yes sir, understood."

"Good work, Potter. Mr Yaxley can stay here."  
Harry nodded, grabbing Tom's cuffed arm and leading him towards the lower levels of the Department, where there was a temporary holding cell for before prisoners were sent to Azkaban.

"The Minister and Mr Thicknesse asked me to attend, with all due respect," Yaxley returned, not letting go of Harry's arm. "It has been indicated throughout the department that Mr Potter may need extra security regarding the case of Voldemort."

Harry scowled at that, and Scrimgeour's jaw clenched.  
"I'll join you then, in that case."

"Don't be absurd, you're far too busy for this considering recent developments. Unless you somehow don't trust your superior's judgment?"

Scrimgeour looked between the three of them, lips pinching.

"Be careful Potter," he said, carefully. "Yell if you need anything."  
Harry nodded. His own instincts had been screaming for a while now, and, both being war veterans of different wars, their eyes met for a moment. He nodded sharply, before once more dragging Tom towards the most secure holding cell.

He figured he'd have to keep an eye on the git, in fear of more bombs planted.  
They walked in silence, and Tom's laughter still rang in his head, and his complete nonchalance right now did nothing to reassure him. Yaxley moved with them, and, he was just opening the door of the cell when he felt a wand press against the back of his neck - already wary, in the same second he'd turned and pointed and...

What?

"Oh fucking great," Harry snarled. "There's two of you. Polyjuice? Glamour?" He asked Yaxley. "Some type of double ritual?" He tried to think, before his eyes widened. God, he felt like an idiot! "The duplicatem!"

"Very good," the Dark Lord purred...and which one actually was the real version? He looked between them, clutching his wand tightly. Yaxley - or the one he assumed had been Yaxley? - flicked a wand, easily removing his duo's magi-cuffs.

Harry shifted, gearing for another fight, but they both just pressed hands on his shoulder.

"Told you I had a brother," the one on his right smirked. Tom-that one was the real one? The one who had been in the Office? Or was the office one the fake? All he knew was that he suddenly felt very exposed and completely weirded out, with two sets of eyes upon him, of the same unnerving intensity.

He seriously considered yelling out for help, or in warning, something, because he wasn't stupid enough to think this wasn't somehow planned as a contingency and that there wasn't a point to this.

The second he said it though, one of them clamped a hand over his mouth, and the second after that he twisted and bit, drawing blood.

Pain reaction? A hiss and a recoil. Did that make the Yaxley one real? His head was spinning, and this had to be the weirdest situation he'd ever been in. And he'd been in a lot of weird situations, for that matter.

The problem was the second he lashed out at one of them, Tom-the one he'd had cuffed-he was confusing himself as well! had lunged forwards to pin his hands at his sides, crossing around his torso in a mocking version of an embrace after he had tossed the cuffs to the Yaxley version. The real one? Which one was the real one? Because Riddle did not bloody well have an identical twin.

Harry struggled against the hold, only to find a wand against his throat from the Tom in front of him, pressing against his lips in a silent warning to be quiet too. He bit it, nearly snapping the wood in fury, and it moved to his throat with warning sparks that burned against his skin.

"You don't want to bring people running. Enough people have died, don't you think?" the other questioned coolly.

"What are you planning?" Harry growled. "I thought you were all confident about getting away with this anyway with all of your connections?"

"Well, of course," the one behind murmured against his ear, pressed flush against his back. "Doesn't mean I want to waste time sitting in a Ministry cell though, or that I fancy going to Azkaban. I'm the real one, by the way. Hello."

Harry twisted his head to look, regardless of the wand pressed against his throat, only for his head to snap back forwards when it abruptly jabbed at his Adam's apple, painfully.

"Don't be rude now," the duplicate grinned, all too sharply. "Eyes front, soldier."  
Harry's heart hammered in his chest. Whilst he was certain - as he had proven - that he could take one of them in a fight, when there were two Tom's it was extremely difficult and he wasn't arrogant enough to think he would succeed.  
How long had they been split?

The copy took a step close to him...and it was honestly one of the most unnerving things he'd ever encountered. Dealing with Lord Voldemort alone was bad enough, let alone when he was doubled and they both had their full attention, power and intelligence fixed on him.

He resisted the urge to swallow.

"Let go of me," spat, instead, icily. Identical laughter rang in his ears and Harry couldn't help but suddenly feel eternally grateful to the fact that Riddle didn't actually have a brother.

"He really is adorable," they both agreed, causing him to scowl, and then stiffen further as the copy stepped closer once more, hemming him in between them, a hand gripping his chin to tilt his head up, examining him. "You know, this would make a fantastic threesome."

For a few seconds, Harry was convinced he'd misheard and just stared, eyes wide, before feeling a horrible, burning embarrassment creep up his neck and across his cheeks.

"Fuck off!" he growled.

"I mean, for you, not necessarily for me. I don't even know if it counts in that sense for us," the copy shrugged. "Interesting experiment either way. I bet you can just imagine it now...you won't be able to help yourself. How do you think it would go? You would be in the middle, obviously..." Tom murmured. "Two of us...one of you. My, I could screw you and give you a blow job at the same time, in some sense and watch as you very quickly unravel."

"Too quick wouldn't be any fun though," the other said. "I think we rushed it last time, though I suppose your eagerness was commendable, Harry, even if it was alcohol-induced...this time, next time, I rather think I'd take my time. How long and how many times could you be kept on the edge before begging, do you reckon? I've always been curious about that."

"I think I may vomit. Shut the fuck up."  
He hated himself so much for involuntarily thinking about it just like Tom said, picturing the scene, as if someone had told him not to think of pink elephants. Them both being so close, and so solid despite the help, didn't help either in the slightest. Not that he fancied Tom-Voldemort-at all, regardless of how the kiss was now searing through his head, and all that.

"Oh but you seemed to enjoy it so much the first time," the real Tom said, behind him, giving a hum, breath teasing his ear. "Unlike you, I wasn't drunk off my head, and can remember everything about it. Would you like me to tell you about it?" that voice was too soft, too velvety, running over him like the flat edge of a knife, enveloping him.

"No!" Harry protested, louder now, struggling against the grip, regardless of the wand. "I don't want to bloody well hear about any of this actually, or anything in your perverted mind!" Duplicate-Tom tsked with disatisfaction, and Harry suddenly realised how though he could sense the smirk in both of their voices, both sets of eyes were dark and cold. He stopped squirming when he realised it was just causing him to flush and buck in the middle of them, and he glared, ferociously.

"Don't make me silence you, Harry, you can make the prettiest noises when you feel like it. I can vouch for it."  
He wanted to claw something, he really did. Could awkwardness be a torture? It felt like it, especially when overlapped with the simultaneous danger and very real danger of pain and possibly death in his current predicament.

"I can't wait to-" he began, furiously, and the next second he couldn't speak, mouth glued shut. He wasn't sure which of them, real or double, had cast the spell.

"You should be better behaved, Harry," Tom said, against his ear. "I've been very lenient so far." He was pushed away from where he'd been standing hemmed up against the cell door, and watched, brow furrowing, as the duplicate version of Tom stepped calmly into the holding cell. He gave an angry, questioning look.

"You've seen how easily I can get hold of you, or break into your home. There's absolutely nothing keeping me from just kidnapping you, lifting you out of whatever cosy delusion of safety and life you've made for yourself and just placing you somewhere to play with at my leisure."

Harry's insides ran cold, and he jabbed Tom in the ribs, hard, with his elbow, and heard the other wince, though the grip on his arms didn't regrettably loosen, though the spell on his mouth did.

"Then why haven't you?" he demanded coldly.

"Because for now I'm finding this game and watching you run around trying to have a normal life vastly entertaining, and because I have a busy job," Tom shrugged.

That seriously couldn't be the only reason he hadn't been kidnapped. He had an awful feeling it was, at least from Tom's perspective, not including his likelihood to fight back rather than just be kept like some twisted sort of pet. His gut twisted with unease.

His eyes moved over the duplicate again, trying to figure out the game here, before his jaw tightened.

"The duplicate disappears when you cancel the spell."

"It's terrible when prisoners escape, isn't it?"

"I'll report it. Stop it."

"Not if you want to keep your life you won't," Tom said, very simply, spinning him around so they was face to face, nails digging into his arms.

"You won't kill me, you fancy too much, seeing as I'm going to assume you're not into necrophilia."

"Not into rape either. Do consider that both times you have started it," Riddle returned.

"And there was me thinking you had no morals at all."

"You make a lot of assumptions about me," the other said. "But, that's a topic to be addressed at another time. Eight O clock, dinner perhaps?"Harry stared back incredulously, and Tom shrugged. "It was worth a shot."

He really shouldn't have the urge to almost laugh. Merlin, his mood swings were giving him emotional whiplash. It would be easier if Tom's personality had significantly changed, in humour, or whatever else.

"You know I'm never going to be on Voldemort's side? I don't like what you stand for, or what you've done, and I won't forgive you for it," he said, quietly. "I'm never going to be in love with you."

Tom's expression suddenly went very blank.  
"Perhaps," he allowed.

"You going to kill me now?"

"I'm sure I'll get around to it eventually, don't worry. For now, I think you're going to gather evidence for my trial and try and convict me, yes? Then next time, if you do manage it, you won't have any justice opposition against letting me rot with the Dementors for real."

Harry felt odd, and he didn't quite know why. He eyed Voldemort warily, not sure what to think about the way he was behaving about all of this.

"Yes."

"Good luck."

Harry really did snort at that, suddenly feeling absolutely exhausted.  
"Thanks," he muttered. "I'd say you too, but I don't actually want any more of my friend's dead. Though...your criteria...not exactly fair seeing as my colleagues aren't going to agree with it."

"And you'll find I won't co-operate with them," the duplicate called, from the cell. Harry's shoulders stiffened at the reminder, but he kept his eyes on the real version.

"Maybe you should start going to dinner with me instead."

"Would I have your word that my friends went unharmed if I did?"

"Harry, if you go out with me, I'll make a concentrated effort to protect them instead, within reason."

Harry's eyes widened at that, his mouth suddenly very dry, feeling trapped. Tom smirked at his expression.

"...I'll think about your proposition. Though that could be difficult from a prison cell. But hey, I'll bring you a crossword in Azkaban or something."

"I'm touched," Tom drawled. "Patronus worthy declarations right there."  
Harry rolled his eyes, still tense.

"This wouldn't change anything about my actual feelings, you understand."

"I'm not expecting you to act, though I do believe your sentiments would change with time if you let yourself give me a chance."

Harry really wasn't sure what to say to that, and shook his head. Tom continued, something in his expression.

"You killed people in war. What makes your actions better than mine? We are the same, fighting for what we believe in, doing anything for our cause, even murder. You threatened to kill me after all. You just don't want to admit that, no soldier wants to admit they're not a hero, least of all you, because it would mean facing all you've done."

Harry's throat thickened, and Tom's lips curled in a twisted sort of smile, before he leant down, pressing a sharp kiss to his lips, very briefly.

"Just think about it."  
Then before Harry could react Tom had shoved him away, and disappeared.  
Portkey.

He heard a sigh behind him, and turned to face the duplicate, who was studying his fingernails idly.

"Going to handcuff me again, Harry? I'll hold you to the crosswords. We look like a very handsome couple from over here, by the way, aesthetically."

Harry wanted to slam his head against a wall, and strode over, mouth sour, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. He should tell Scrimgeour that the Riddle in the cage was a fake...and in all honesty, he really didn't want to get close.

He liked Tom but Voldemort absolutely terrified him.  
It didn't make a good combination.

When did his life become this?  
He needed to talk to Dumbledore.

* * *

_A/N: Hmm, really not sure about this chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed it anyway. I guess I lied about the background. This got too long, it will now be in the next chapter instead. Thanks for the reviews :) _


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

It felt beyond strange to be back at Hogwarts, after such a long time, but he couldn't say he hadn't missed the castle.

His home.

Harry had his own flat now - well, he had a safe house flat because a certain bastard who called himself a Dark Lord had decided it was a good idea to turn his actual flat into a crime scene - but Hogwarts still felt more like home, however much he travelled.

There was a comfort in the familiar hallways, the bustle of noise and students, and, if the situation had been different he thought he would very much have liked to have come back here to teach.

Maybe one day he still would.  
Right now, he didn't think he could find the peace for that, in himself, and in the world as a whole to think he was allowed and could do anything other than fight against the darkness.

But he'd always remember that the happiest times of his life had been here, and that this was where he found his family.

He supposed he'd been on decent terms with Tom when they were kids, and that they'd been friends as much as anyone in the Orphanage had been - but it hadn't quite been the same. They'd bonded together because of the mutual hardship and prejudice they faced, it hadn't lasted, and they'd drifted the more Tom proved himself capable of depending on himself, and when Harry had gone to Hogwarts first.

He didn't know. It felt odd thinking of those memories now, in the context of what Tom had become. He couldn't help but think if he could have stopped it, or if his rejection was the straw that broke the camel's back, to use the cliche.

He'd never meant it in a bad way, his leaving that night.  
It hadn't been a good time, and, more than anything, he'd completely freaked out the morning after. Obviously, that wasn't the best or most pleasant reaction he could have had but...was he supposed to anticipate all that would come it? Be responsible for everyone?

He'd been a teenager, he made mistakes.  
He didn't know.

He knocked on the Headmaster's door, smiling to see the man.

"I hear a congratulations is in order for your new position, sir," he greeted softly. Dumbledore beamed back at him, eyes twinkling from behind the desk.

"Thank you, m'boy. Pleasant surprise to have you here, is there something I can help you with? Would you like a lemon drop?"

Harry politely accepted one of the sour lemon candies, feeling himself relax a bit as he settled in a chair opposite the desk.

For a few seconds, it seemed like the years had melted away - all the things he'd seen and done - and he was a schoolboy instead.

"Still lacing your sweets with calming drafts?" he raised his brows. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled further.

"Ah, you caught that then. And yes, just very mildly. I've found it is of great use in coming to a more mutually beneficial agreement when dealing with parents."

Harry grinned.  
"I can imagine." The grin faded after a moment. "Grindelwald is locked in Numergard now? He won't get out?" he verified.

"I can only hope not," Dumbledore said, softly, with a sigh, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "But we never really know what the future may bring."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, quietly. "I know the two of you used to be...close."  
He could understand that even more now, as much as he hated it, because it was suddenly reminding him far too alarmingly of Tom.

"It's past," Dumbledore dismissed. "I hear LV - or, as I believe he has now been identified, Lord Voldemort - has returned to your life."

Harry had to surpress a sigh of his own, running a hand through his hair.  
"Why do they keep targeting me? I don't understand. I mean, no offence, but surely you would be the greater enemy to decide to go into battle against." But he had history with Tom, maybe that was it, and he swallowed. "I don't know what to do."

Dumbledore's expression softened with sympathy.

"You know who he is, don't you? Rumour has it, Tom Riddle is currently in a Ministry holding cell."

Harry swallowed.  
"Yes sir."

Dumbledore studied him closely for several long moments.  
"It's...difficult, feeling like you're the cause of such tragedies, or even a single death. The guilt can be crippling if the responsibility isn't correctly managed."

"So you think it's my fault Tom did this?"  
Harry's insides writhed at the confirmation. The Headmaster looked at him sharply.

"No. No I do not, and it's not your fault. I'm saying that you should never think that, even if that's the way you feel right now. Tom Riddle..." Dumbledore rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "Tom Riddle has never been quite right."

Harry's brow furrowed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"  
Why hadn't he mentioned this before?

"Just an old man's suspicions," Dumbledore said, quietly. "A...feeling I get. Were you ever aware of the Chamber of Secrets debacle?"

"Chamber of Secrets?"

"It's a legendary chamber supposedly hidden under the school, built by Salazar Slytherin and holding a monster. The year after you graduated, there were a series of petrifications and even a death, all linked to the chamber of secrets and the 'Heir of Slytherin'. The school almost had to close, but the attacks came to a stop at the end of the year."

"When Tom would have graduated," Harry murmured.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. Harry couldn't help but feel even more troubled, but didn't reach for another Lemon Drop.

"Tom grew up in a muggle orphanage, he can't be the Heir of Slytherin." But Tom had gone for the name 'Salazar Gaunt', hadn't he? "Does he have a descending line?"

"The Gaunts," Dumbledore said, watching him. "They're all dead now, buried in the area of Little Hangleton...where the Riddle family also lived and died."

"He's a half blood," Harry's eyes widened. "The bloody hypocrite! How...how do you know all this?"

"I've took the liberty of doing some research upon my return to England, upon consideration of recent events. Mr Riddle has a spotless record of course, flawless, but..."

"But he's Voldemort. I know. Bloody hell. His family, did they..."

"They didn't die of natural causes, no," Dumbledore replied. "His grandfather died in Azkaban after several attacks on muggles in the area, for which he was arrested, and his son followed him there."

"And his mum died in childbirth. I know. He told me. I know that story."

He just didn't see how all this could help him right now.  
"Grindelwald...sorry to bring him up again, sir, but...why did he attack my family?"

Dumbledore went silent, and stayed so for a very long time.

"I don't think that is a matter to be discussed right now."  
Harry stared at him in disbelief.

"So it's not just cause they were soldiers?"

"Grindelwald has been defeated. He attacked your family on what seemed to be error of misjudgement on his behalf. It is no longer relevant. I strongly recommend you focus on Mr Riddle."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"There are things you don't know," Dumbledore's voice sharpened for the first time, just a little. "Matters that it may be unwise for you to know. I have no desire to stir up further war in this country, especially when I have already been wrong before. There is information at stake that I cannot risk getting into the wrong hands."

"What information?" Harry demanded. "I'm not the wrong hands, surely?"

"Harry, I promise I'll tell you when the time is right," the Headmaster murmured, leaning over the table. "You've trusted me so far. Will you continue to do so, please?"

Harry wetted his lips, mouth dry, uneasy, before finally nodding.  
"Yes sir."

"Good boy. Now, was there anything specific I could help you with? I have a meeting with the Minister in ten minutes..."

* * *

Sometimes, Albus thought he was getting too old for this.  
He watched the boy - no, the young man - leave his office, shoulders slumped against the weight of all he had faced in his life thus far.

Sometimes, he questioned his own decisions, he thought maybe he should tell him, the truth, everything, because the boy was hardly a child anymore. He'd seen more than a child should ever have to, fought alongside him in war.

And it all made no sense whatsoever.  
Everything he'd banked on had been disregarded, and he didn't understand it.

The Prophecy hadn't come though.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. … Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

Those words had been playing on his mind for so long now, and on Gellert's too, he knew. He knew that was why his old friend had attacked the Potters. He only knew the first part, of course, but it had been enough to warrant execution to a small British Family that should otherwise not have been drawn into the fight at all. Indeed, without it, it may have been a far longer time until Britain's Ministry involved themselves in what should be a foreign affair.

Maybe it was because Harry had never been marked.

Lily and James, rest their souls, had hidden the child under an Invisibility cloak, silenced. Grindelwald had never even seen him, never knew of the presence of another Hallow though he imaged if he had, that nothing would have prevented his determination in taking it for his own.

He'd been meaning to borrow the cloak for study just that week, and...if he hadn't, if he'd had the cloak that Halloween night, he couldn't even imagine the consequences that had happened.

Harry had been saved, pulled out of the flames of a burning building, his spot marked by fallen debris and a certain patch of floor not covered in ash or blood.

He didn't think Harry remembered watching his parents be tortured and killed in front of him, and he could only be thankful for that.

But sometimes he wished things had gone differently.  
He'd defeated Gellert in battle, yes, but it should have been Harry. That was why he'd trained the boy, let him come to war and serve, that was why Grindelwald had remained interested in the child. Why he'd been hidden away in the Muggle world whilst the war raged and bled on, and the Dark Lord hunted him down without success.

But it hadn't been Harry, he'd been the one to defeat the Dark Wizard in battle.  
So he feared his old friend wouldn't stay locked up, and sometimes cursed his own sentiments for being unable to murder the man he once loved, or have his death upon his conscience for any reason outside of Fate.

Which was why Harry had to do it.  
No one else could.  
No one else was supposed to.

But he hadn't.

And that was why he feared Grindelwald's return, and why Lord Voldemort couldn't be around. If the two joined in their mutual hatred of the non-magical world, he couldn't help but wonder if even the Prophecy child would be able to stop them.

Harry had to be prepared for Gellert, to fight him when he inevitably escaped, he couldn't be waylaid by a terrorist calling himself a Dark Lord.

It was never supposed to happen like this, and, until things were back on track and he considered where he'd gone so wrong, Harry couldn't know.

And 'Lord' Voldemort most definitely couldn't.  
He only hoped it worked out well.

* * *

Harry couldn't help but feel infuriated that his discussion with Dumbledore, the advice he'd so desperately needed and sought, hadn't come at all.

He trusted the man's - his General's - judgement, of course he did, he just...didn't always understand the man's decisions. He didn't know. But he was the Lord of the Light, and his commander, and it was the place of the soldier to follow those orders.

That was what he'd always been taught; otherwise there could be chaos.

He tramped back into the Ministry and, upon instruction, down to Tom's holding cell to keep watch and do some interrogative work.

Apparently no one else wanted to go near Voldemort, or the presumed Voldemort, in fear of further bomb threats, and that was on the assumption that even if they did go down, that Riddle would co-operate with anyone else.

He'd said on his calling cards that he wouldn't.  
Inconvenient twat.

Tom was lying on the makeshift bed, or bench, in his prison cell looking far too contented for Harry's liking, and didn't so much look over at his arrival.

Harry slammed his parchment and quill down, irritably.  
"I'm here to take your statement," he bit out, uneasily.

Tom so far had seemed so in control of the situation before his capture, that it unnerved him. Wouldn't that imply Tom had some scheme here now? He remembered the laughter ringing in his ears, and the ex-Slytherin's confidence that he wouldn't be caught.

"Did you know that soap gets its name from the mythological Mount Sapo?" the other asked, idly. "They would burn people and animals as sacrifices there, and the combination of melted fat and wood ash ran into the nearby Tiber River, and, with the fat and ash mixing with the water, that was how soap was first made. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

"Is this your way of requesting showering privileges?"

Tom looked over to him, expression perfectly even.  
"Do I get those? I'd like them. Do I need to be joined by a guard? You're my guard, aren't you?"  
Riddle's eyes gleamed in amusement as Harry opened his mouth to say something, before gritting his teeth.

This was going to take a long time.  
"Just give me your bloody statement."

"Just get me my lawyer. I want Hermione Granger."  
Was this some kind of joke?

* * *

_A/N: I get the feeling you guys don't like DWD as much as my other stories, but oh well :) You're going to have to suffer an update anyway, ha!  
Thank you very much for the reviews, they're much appreciated. Sorry for the fillery chapter, but hey, it's quite informative so maybe that's okay..._

PS: Got the soap fact out of Fight Club :P Great book, I'd recommend it. Awesome movie too.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

Harry wasn't certain if he was really allowed to be sitting in here, if Hermione really was going to be Tom's legal support.

Hermione wouldn't agree to it, would she?  
But she'd nonetheless come as summoned, at least, and they were now sitting in a small room near the holding cell, with a table and two chairs.

Hermione sat in one, and Tom was handcuffed securely to the other on the opposite side. The room was otherwise bare but for a light bulb swinging overhead.

"You'll be wanting my statement, then?" Tom asked, with a pleasant smile, not seeming too bothered by his restraints - though Harry wasn't sure if he was truly nonchalant or not.

"I haven't agreed to represent you," Hermione said, coolly. "And frankly, considering your crimes, I have no desire to either. You're not stupid, I can't believe you'd actually think I was going to do so."

Harry had already caught her up to speed on Tom's capture, and the general details involved.  
Riddle's smile only broadened, almost gently, but with a mocking edge to it that was barely noticeable in the face of his ultimately good-natured countenance. Or facade would, perhaps, be a far more fitting word.

Harry didn't believe it for a second, not anymore. Tom wasn't a nice guy, and no amount of pleasantries or - or kisses - was going to change that.

"Perhaps I want you because you're one of the top lawyers in your field?"

"Perhaps you want me because I'm a muggleborn, which would cast confusion when you're being convicted for being a Blood Purist Dark Lord," Hermione countered, lips pinched.

"Very good hypothesis," Tom praised, eyes gleaming. "You're a credit to your training."  
Hermione stared back at him, unyielding to the flattery, but that just appeared to amuse Tom more. "Are you perhaps intending to represent Harry's side of the argument then?"

"Maybe I will," Hermione bit out. "Free of charge because you're insane and you need to be locked up for good."

"Such a pity when flawless conviction track records get destroyed," Tom sighed. "I mean, unless you actually think this whole case isn't going to swing in my favour?"

"Your arrogance is insufferable," she stated stiffly.

"But adorable in my confidence, yes?" Tom smirked, tossing a wink in Harry's direction. He scowled at it, jaw clenching. "If you do represent the Ministry, or Harry, you'll still be needing my statement, will you not?"

Why was he getting such a bad feeling about Tom's sudden desire to share? Hermione seemed to share his suspicions, and exchanged a look with him.

"I would," she said carefully.

"You seem to believe, if I was Voldemort, that I would co-operate with one attempting to convict me. You'd get far more information working on my side, with me, and you do so love knowledge, don't you Miss Granger?"

"I love justice even more," she smiled, tightly, expression hard and Harry couldn't help but admire her. Tom hummed thoughtfully.

"And what makes you believe that your brand of justice is any more viable than the Dark Lord's? Because you're on the side of the law?"

"I don't have people sentenced to death just for being in my way or disagreeing with my ideals," Hermione said. "So yes, I do believe my solutions and the law is better than yours."

Harry resisted the urge to shift with discomfort, and Tom's head tilted, eyes turning to him. It did nothing to reassure him, Tom reminded him of a shark, scenting even a drop of blood amongst his prey.

"No," Tom said, gaze remaining glued to him. "You sentence people to live in torture instead. Amongst the Dementors. You kill them all the same, even if you do not stop their heart from physically beating."

"Flaws in the system do not validate some twisted form of vigilante justice in the form of murder and oppression via terror," Hermione hissed. Harry wanted to wince at how obvious it was that Tom had got under her skin. "Nor does it give credit to Blood Purism and the ideals you preach."

"Allegedly preach, Miss Granger," Tom nearly sang the words out, eyes moving to her again. "I am not yet convicted, and you have no proof. Unless you happen to have evidence such as the copy of a manifesto written in my hand?"

Hermione's magic sparked, her eyes narrowing, before she forced herself to calm once more.

"The point stands in the hypothetical of your ideals, allegedly or not," she returned. Tom smiled again.

"But if knowledge is not your currency, what of control over my case and the information hence involved? You would be in charge of my defence. You could even throw it so I am more easily convicted."

"What exactly are you trying to do here?" she snapped. Harry couldn't help but wonder the same thing. Did Tom want to lose?

"Should I start giving my statement now, regardless?" he asked instead, innocently, and Harry wanted to throttle the bastard, infuriated. This wasn't good, Tom was controlling the conversation too much when it should have been the other way round.

"If you wish," Hermione said coldly. "Though I still make no claim of representing you. Anything you say is of your own volition and under no legal agreement."

Tom was silent for a moment, rolling out his neck casually, and looking like he would have been inspecting his fingernails if he wasn't cuffed.

"I suppose you could say that the first thing relevant to evidence in this case was in the summer between Harry's fifth and sixth year, and my fourth and fifth."

Harry's insides ran cold, and his eyes widened. Oh no, he couldn't possibly-

"Harry was going through a rough patch with his girlfriend at the time, a Miss Ginny Weasley." Hermione looked utterly confused as to where this was going.

"Riddle-" Harry began, furiously.

"Hush, Auror Potter, I'm giving evidence. You are not at liberty to interfere with my statement."  
That was true, whatever Tom wished to confide in said statement. Harry wanted to bolt for the door, but he didn't want to leave Hermione alone with the bastard either.

Hermione glanced at him, bewildered by his reaction, even as Tom continued with an all too smug smirk on his lips.

"And Harry got very, very drunk because he was angsting, and wanted to drown his sorrows, or whatever. You might have to interrogate him as a witness on what the argument was specifically about. Of course, that was underage drinking, not allowed at our Orphanage where they were very strict about such matters, but Harry didn't care. He drank outside instead, and staggered back at 1:13, wasted, as I believe the saying goes."

Harry felt the old memories swarming in his head, the way the alcohol numbed the cooling evening outside, the way he was so angry and frustrated and he didn't know what to do. How lost he felt, how unwanted. He hadn't even been sure if he and Ginny were still together after their row, and he'd felt lost and confused and he couldn't even remember what the fight was about anymore. It had been years. No doubt something stupid that got blown out of size.

"He couldn't get in, however, as Mrs Cole had locked up all the doors. It was summer, but Harry didn't want to sleep outside on a street corner. He didn't want to go pounding on the door either, because that would get him in trouble with the matron, and he could get kicked out at sixteen soon without much hassle if he made a bad impression."

Crunching around the building, stumbling, mind fuzzy, falling over a couple of times, scraping his knees.

"He threw some pebbles up at my window instead to wake me up. Do you remember this, Harry? Let me in, he said. Let me in Tom, she's locked the door. So I went down and let him in, shivering outside in the cold and the summer rain like a bedraggled little kitten."

Hermione was staring, fixed now, as if torn between curiosity from never having heard this story before, to a feeling that maybe she didn't want to know.

"I helped him up the stairs, because by this point he couldn't walk in a straight line," Tom murmured. "And he started talking, and he started babbling about how he'd had a fight with his girlfriend. How he was worried that he was screwed up in relationships, how maybe there was something wrong with him because she was pretty and she wanted to edge things up a step, but how he didn't feel right about doing so. How he wasn't ready. How he couldn't seem to be doing anything right with her anymore, to please her. How he worried maybe things weren't right with him because he liked her but he didn't think he loved her and sometimes he'd catch himself looking at men-"

"Fuck off," Harry snarled, taking a livid step forward, wand in hand. "I never said that you miserable little shit-"

"-You can't interrupt statement, Harry," Tom said again, all too calmly, simply. Hermione was starting to look rather mortified, like she should step out...but then Tom would give his 'statement' to someone else and...Harry's mind felt jumbled, and he wanted to hide somewhere.

"He was very drunk at the time. Very worried, because that can't be right, can it Tom? And maybe there's something wrong with me and I don't know what to do and Grindelwald's back and I don't know what to do...what if he hurts Ginny to get to me Tom? I could never forgive myself. I tried putting him to bed, but he wouldn't let go of me. He was drunk, and I was there to talk to, I knew what it was like living where we did where everything was jumbled and maybe just maybe I was just there at the time as someone to talk to when his inhibitions lowered."

Harry's cheeks were burning, and worse, he felt like crap. Because Tom had just been there, he didn't think, even in his intoxicated state, that he'd even thought about Tom at all. He had no excuses for that.

"He was terrified he was going to die alone, that the Dark Lord would just murder everyone who got close to him, and then he kissed me."

Hermione's face suddenly went rigid at that, and she looked between them, pale, obviously now sensing where this was going.

"You don't have to-" she began.  
Tom's eyes moved so he was pinning Harry with his gaze once more, and the smirk had dropped off his lips now, even as his voice grew softer and more velvety.

"That was my first kiss," Tom murmured. "You were rather clumsy, and our noses bumped the first time but you pressed on, crushing our lips together, seizing hold of my hair, ever so eager. Your breath stank of whiskey and mints, and I couldn't breathe and then your head was buried against my shoulder."

He hadn't been able to stop shaking, he remembered now, and his grip had tightened and loosened convulsively, as Tom stared at him in shock and something else entirely.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, you said," Tom's voice was barely above a whisper. "This isn't right. I have a girlfriend. I'm sorry. But you kept kissing me, sweeter now, like you just couldn't stop. Help me forget Tom, I'm sorry, this isn't right, I don't want to remember her, the way she looked at me. Am I some kind of freak?"

"Stop it," Harry's voice was croaky, he didn't recognise it, and it felt like Hermione wasn't even in the room anymore.

"It hurts, Tom. Help me, you're a good friend, you understand, don't you? I've seen the way you always stare at me, Tom. Do you like me? What does that feel like? You couldn't stop talking and you were growing more and more agitated, so desperate and you needed me so very, very much."

And so Tom had kissed him back, just to shut him up probably, pressing their lips together, roughly - doing exactly as he asked, making him forget. He'd tasted of winter air, something pure and clean and sharp, and then of something else, darker, sweeter, and lingering toothpaste crowding the corners of his mouth.

"You were still so eager to please. To prove that you were worth something, confident and strong and not even a little bit broken even then by all the things you'd seen," Tom said, and there was starting to be that gleam in his eye again, but crueller this time. "I didn't tell you to stop. Why would I? I'd wanted you for awhile at that point, and I thought - stupidly - perhaps, that you would still want me too in the morning. You didn't really know what to do, neither of us did to be honest, and we certainly didn't have the necessary supplies, so you got down on your knees-."

"You've said enough!" Hermione bit out, but her voice seemed underwater, so far away, and Harry couldn't look away. But it seemed to break Tom out of it, and he felt like he could breathe again when the Dark Lord looked at Hermione again.

The smile returned to his lips, all too pleasantly.  
"He was gone the next morning. Not a word, not a note, and not a conversation until the recent Ministry Ball and his return to England. Is that the type of motivation you were looking for, Miss Granger?"

There was a dead silence, and Harry could feel his shoulders stiff with unease, bile in his throat, fists clenched around his wand and at his side.

All he knew was he did not want Tom telling Hermione more, or repeating this to anyone else, or with anything else that had happened, and...

"Hermione you're not taking this case," he said, flatly. "On mine or his side."

"Outside, now," Hermione said. "We need a word."  
Shit.

She walked out, sharply, leaving him alone with Tom.

"Why?" he asked, tightly. "Why the hell would you-?"

"Shouldn't you be asking that to yourself? Harry? Why the hell would you."  
Harry stared at him for a moment.

"I'm sorry."

"Spare me the sob story."

"You didn't have to involve Hermione," he bristled, despite himself.

"She's the best lawyer in the field. Of course I did. Somehow I don't think she'll be sticking her nose in now, do you?"

Harry stared, incredulously, a bad taste in his mouth.  
"You bastard."

"Kettle meet pot. I think I actually will be needing that shower now."  
Oh bloody hell.

How was it that the git could have the upper hand when he was the prisoner!?  
Tom smirked, without humour.

"Was that really your first kiss?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"No you're not. But you will be."

* * *

_A/N: So, you know what happened, even if my method of narrative is disappointing ;) hope you enjoyed this small installment. As always, work calls...doing an essay on Fight Club, just in case y'all wanted to know, and a presentation on Barbie. _

_PS: Don't worry, Harry will start gaining ground and equaling the board out soon. It's more, that as Tom said, he's currently in Tom's field and area of expertise._


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:

He'd had enough.

Harry was sick of being the victim here, with Tom having the upper hand. Of course the other had an advantage from being a creepy stalker and knowing him and watching him for years, wherein he'd been largely oblivious to the other's presence...but that didn't mean he was going to roll over.

This had been the final straw.

"How could you sleep with him and leave?" Hermione demanded, looking utterly outraged. "That's appalling!"

"Why the hell are you on his side?" Harry hissed, fists clenched. "Or did you suddenly forget out all of the people he killed because of his little victim act he pulled? Seriously. I was drunk off my mind and emotionally messed up, I'm pretty sure I could make some claims about him taking advantage. He was sober, he didn't have to go along with it and frankly, I never bloody well promised him it meant anything. Actually, I quite specifically didn't!"

"That doesn't make it right!" Hermione returned, eyes narrowed. "You broke his heart!"

"Oh, so this is basically hey maybe if I'd dated him properly he wouldn't have become a mass murdering Dark Lord?" Harry spat, frustrated, and maybe more guilty than he would have liked to have felt too.

It twisted rancid in his gut.

"I-" Hermione faltered, and Harry's jaw clenched.

"Because Tom was always fucked up. Sure, maybe I could have lessened the impact if I'd been there for him - believe me, I know that - I haven't been able to stop thinking about the what-ifs ever since I figured out the bastard was Voldemort, but that doesn't mean this wouldn't have happened anyway because he is a time bomb."

"Nobody's born evil," Hermione said, tightly. Harry stared back at her, flatly.

"No, they're not. But some people are born with a disposition to being emotionally screwed up. He's a psycho. It was never proven that he hung Billy Stubb's rabbit, but I doubt the rabbit attached a rope to its own neck and floated up on its own accord, and it wasn't me."

Hermione's brow furrowed.  
"If you knew he was like this, why didn't you say anything early?"

Harry deflated.

"He was a...sweet kid. I was protective of him, I guess, and Billy Stubbs was a twat. I don't know...I guess..." he could see why Tom had done it, back then. He was just defending himself. "It was the staring, more than anything. He always had a bit of a...crush, or something, the first time I stepped in when some of the older kids were beating on him."

"Have you considered this whole Voldemort thing is a bid for your attention? For your help?" Hermione asked softly. Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Tom...Tom isn't that simple. Maybe that's part of it, but from little I've seen, there's always something bigger going on too. He doesn't just do one thing, one plan. Hermione, he is scary intelligent, always has been."

"So why haven't you done anything about him before?" she asked quietly.  
That was the big question, wasn't it? He supposed...because it meant confronting everything that happened, and that summer, that night. And he hadn't quite been ready to do that then.

"Doesn't matter. I'm doing something now. I need to talk to the Daily Prophet."

* * *

Tom looked up as Harry strode down into the cell, slipping in quietly, and tossed a copy of the morning's paper at him.

"I would have preferred the shower," he replied, smirking, but he was surprised to see that Harry didn't flush and squirm with discomfort this time, staring at him with hard, defiant eyes.

Maybe that perked his interest more. Harry had looked rather pathetically defeated as of late, which whilst having a thrill and entertainment in itself, wasn't so much as seeing the auror struggle against a desperate situation, thinking he could win when he couldn't.

Curiously, he looked down at the paper.  
His smirk nearly faltered, freezing around the edges.

Star-crossed Lovers!

Tom Riddle, Junior Under Secretary to the Minister, has recently been arrested under suspicion of being the notorious serial killer who goes under the pseudonym of Lord Voldemort.  
His capture was made by Harry Potter, in the Auror Department - who, sources tell us, Riddle has a had a crush on since his Hogwarts days, leading to attacks on the well-known Holyhead Harpies Chaser, Ginny Weasley, and Potter's ex-girlfriend, along with recent explosions within the Auror Department at the ministry.  
Moreover, we have information from exclusive sources that their was a small affair between Potter and Riddle during their times at Hogwarts, which may have only fuelled this tragedy.  
On different sides of the law now, this reporters question is whether Voldemort is the Dark Lord he claims to be, or merely a petty, broken hearted boy seeking solace for his...

Tom shoved the paper down, eyes flashing furiously, as he glared at Potter.

"You sold our story, how dare you!" he hissed, on his feet in a matter of seconds, striding closer to the bars. Harry had the audacity to smile back at him pleasantly, shoulders squared.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that memory somehow special to you? Or is it more on the lines of you intending to use my past against me like a dirty little secret? Guess you can't now. They reported everything, so I guess you no longer have anything to attempt to blackmail me with or spin in court."

"I can still spin it. There are two sides to every story!"

His cheeks weren't...flushed, exactly, but his eyes were wild with rage. He wanted to smash that infuriatingly smug expression off Harry's face.

He'd have everything planned out, perfectly...but this had never factored in. Harry, from everything he'd seen, was far too embarrassed to air his dirty little secrets and confront his past, so ruining his heroic little image, like this.

But he had.  
Maybe he'd underestimated him.

He'd assumed to be getting himself a gorgeous trophy, a glorified pet, or maybe even a bodyguard and lover at the end of all of this...this hadn't been on the agenda. He'd assumed Harry always fought for others because he didn't know how to fight for himself.

It was unforgivable miscalculation, and the entirety of this faction of his plan was jeopardized...but not destroyed. He could still use this. It most certainly was not over.

He wasn't sure if he was exhilarated or absolutely livid with fury.  
Harry had shared their past, he'd shared their moments together like the intimacy involved was nothing.

It didn't matter that he'd done the same - he hadn't published it in the news!  
But he supposed it was well played. Still.

"And there was me thinking that our time together meant something," he sneered, fingers curling tightly around the cold iron bars.

Harry leaned forwards, so his breath puffed across Tom's lips, so casually, but he thought it might be a more premeditated, conscious move this time.

"You were wrong."

This time, he did lunge forward, grabbing his throat in one quick viper strike through the bars, dragging him even closer so his cheek crashed against the prison with a metal clang. To his credit, Harry showed no signs of panic or discomfort, smirk merely broadening.

"You won't kill me."

"You sound awfully convinced considering you're dealing with a glorified serial killer," he said coldly.

"Oh, bless, did I hurt your feelings? Because, you know, you hurt mine when you started attacking my friends."

"How are they your friends when they don't allow you to live to your full potential?" he returned. It was maddening that Harry couldn't see how much Dumbledore, the mudblood - all of them - held him back. Harry could be so much more, he could rule at his side...or as his lieutenant, anyway. He didn't think that was such a bad offer. He knew people who would kill for the honour of his attention.

Harry's brow furrowed at his comment, startled.

"Maybe the prophet was right and this is all just a big cry for attention, if you're so eager for me to improve myself and defeat you," the other replied. His fingers tightened around the auror's throat, constricting his breathing, but Harry didn't flinch.

That was his boy.

Somehow, this just made him all the more determined to tame the exquisite creature before him, to possess him completely.

So he crashed their lips together - anything to get rid of that all too pleased, cocky look on Potter's face. He was rewarded with a muffled noise of surprise, and then there was copper in his mouth as Harry bit down, hard, inciting a vicious battle of tongue and teeth.

It wasn't love. It was fair.  
But either way everything was fair and no rules had always been his forte, as he squeezed further, pressing flush against the auror and feeling electricity curl hot in the base of his spine.

"The prophet needs a picture of this, don't they? Then there really would be a scandal. A past affair can be excused, romanticised, but this is rather more illicit, don't you think?"

"I'm not going to allow you to manipulate me any further, Riddle," Harry muttered, coolly, against his lips. "You're going to suffer for all you've done."

"Why?" he purred, immediately, twisting his head and allowing his teeth to graze across the soft, vulnerable flesh of Potter's ear. "Are you going to punish me?" He smirked at the very thought.

"I was thinking along the lines of life imprisonment in Azkaban."

"You say the sweetest things. And oh look, your lips are turning blue. It suits you, pet."  
Harry immediately stiffened at that term, and his hand tightened again, even as the other crept to search Harry's pockets discreetly.

"Just for you," Harry returned, to his surprise. "You know, I'm amazed you've refrained from gloating. I'd have thought you had everything exactly where you wanted it."

"I'm sure you'd love to know, Auror."

"Oh, I'm not an Auror anymore."

He froze at that, drawing back.  
"Excuse me?"

"I quit my job. I'm no longer an Auror, so I guess you're going to be stuck rotting down here with no one to play with. I'm cutting you dry."

"You make it sound like you're the most important thing to me," he sneered.

"Perhaps not the most important, but the most entertaining no doubt, or you wouldn't be doing this."

Of course him getting caught wasn't all about Harry, but with his bloody article, the man had taken half the wind out of his sails.

He opened his mouth to scathingly cut the other down, before his eyes narrowed.  
"Nice try. I'm not telling you my plans."

"It was worth a shot." Harry wrenched away, with another smirk, alarmingly unflustered by the whole situation. "For now, I have a date."

What?

"You don't seem very worried that I'm going to kill them. I suppose you don't care about her at all."

"Him," Harry corrected, something in his eyes.  
Somehow, that just irritated him more, and his expression hardened.

"Who?" he hissed.

"Enjoy your stay, Riddle. My visiting time is up, and I will quite happily see that I don't come again."

Well, that changed things, though it was nothing he hadn't considered. Still, he would most certainly be paying Harry back for the trouble he caused.

He resisted the urge to ask again, troubled that he even wanted to.  
Harry was just supposed to be a game, a hobby to pass time.

So what the_ hell_ was this?

* * *

Harry knew baiting Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, was probably a terrible idea.  
But he just couldn't help himself. The whole situation frustrated him; everything from the tangled mess of morality, to his own emotions and how helpless Tom could make him feel.

He wasn't helpless, he knew that - he was a bloody trained soldier, for crying out loud.  
But Riddle had that effect either away. He made Harry desperate to believe that he was good, that this was some horrible misunderstanding and it could just be a harmless crush, chips, and coffee.

But it wasn't, however much half of his mind had contemplated just for a second how things could have been. If they were different.

What if's were pointless, and would only slow him down.  
Part of him lingered on them anyway.

He didn't look up as he arrived home, having his auror stuff all packed up in a box, quietly. It was strange to lose something he'd once been so focused on, so quickly, but it was clear that lines of red table and officialities were ever going to be his forte.

He was too used to the rules of war, and the rules of war he'd play by.  
He buttoned up his shirt, not flinching or turning around as he heard the stair creak, much like his wards hadn't tingled.

"A date for the safety of my friends, that was the deal, right?"

Tom, be it the duplicate or otherwise, he didn't know, came to a halt right behind him.

"I'm flattered you dressed up for me."

"This old thing? I just tossed it on from the back of the cupboard," he mocked in return, getting a laugh in response, before Riddle hummed, turning him around to examine him. It was more that he was concerned with the safety of his friends, than anything else. Riddle being smitten could only work in his advantage.

People did stupid things for 'love'; he'd know that better than anyone.

"Very dashing," the Dark Lord purred, smoothing over his shirt with slender fingers. Harry ignored it, mostly, taking the time to study Riddle for any additional weapons.

"Where are we going considering you're supposed to be locked up in a prison cell?" he questioned, raising a brow. He assumed they wouldn't be staying here, in the comfort of his own...safe house, where he could have plotted and planned for a hidden advantage.

Tom smirked back at him, taking the liberty of holding his hand and pulling him along, seeing as he was hardly going to push that of all things right now.

"Don't worry," the other murmured. "I have everything planned."

"Somehow, that really doesn't reassure me at all."

* * *

_A/N: So, I think I know where I'm going with this fic is now.  
Such a pity I updated it instead of doing more revision, when I'm not so certain on my literature exam..._


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16:

Of course, first dates had a reputation of being awkward, but Harry was pretty certain it wasn't supposed to be this level of uncomfortable.

Tom's fingers were still entwined around his own, and if he tried very hard he could almost ignore the fact that the man was a psychopathic, mass murdering Dark Lord. Almost.

The evening air outside was cool and crisp, and he was glad he'd grabbed a jacket (even if Tom had pointedly searched the pockets first for any trickery). He didn't know where they were going, and he really hoped this wasn't some kind of trap.

"So where are we going?" Harry asked, again. "You realise normal date standards still apply and if you try and grope me in the back of the cinema or something I might stab you."

Tom laughed at that, an open laugh, and Harry felt the sound settle oddly in his bones. Tom was a mass murdering Dark Lord, so it felt strange that just the act of him agreeing to a date, to walking along a street hand in hand...could be bringing Riddle so much satisfaction. Happiness, even.

Tom really did seem happy just to have his company, and, in a bizarre way, there wasn't the normal desperate expectation to try and impress or pull or anything like that.

He didn't know what to think.  
It had been quite some time since, in the romantic sense, anyone had sought out of his company just for the pleasure of it.

Well, he supposed it wasn't just, but there seemed a level of genuinity here.

Harry glanced at their linked hands, before away, the heady and yet juxtaposingly subtle scent of Tom's cologne in his nose.

He was more used to flowery or fruity perfumes, with the girls he dated. Tom was...well, Tom wasn't a girl. He was going to stop thinking about this.

"Well, my plans were dinner and wine in Paris."

Harry nearly choked, eyes widening a little. Was he being serious?  
"I-you're taking me to Paris on a first date?"

God, he was almost glad Tom fancied him and he'd never been in the situation that they were competing for the same woman or whatever, because that was just - ridiculous - smooth - and urgh. Bastard.

"Well, I can't use your friends to blackmail you into a second date so I might as well make it good."

Harry blinked, before realising Tom was joking...at least to some extent, and he huffed a somewhat incredulous laugh of his own.

"You're unbelievable."

"I'm going to assume that's a compliment, so as not to start the night off at a wrong foot," Tom returned, dryly.

Had he not heard about the newspaper article? Harry would have expected him to be upset, much like his counterpart had been.

"So what have you been up to whilst you're not locked up in a Ministry holding cell?" he asked, casually, after a moment.

"Oh, you know, this and that, planning world domination. Reading the prophet."

Okay, yeah, he'd definitely heard about the article, and Harry refused thus to make pretences.

"Your double seemed rather more upset," he commented, lightly. Tom's fingers squeezed his own, a fraction too tightly.

"Well, I originally intended to take you paintballing too, but I don't think I would have been able to resist cursing your armour off and shooting you in the dick, so I thought it was best to cancel that activity," the other replied sweetly.

Harry blinked.

"You know what paintballing is?"

"I worry for the state of the Auror department if that's what you picked up there," Tom drawled.

"Oh, I'm not an Auror anymore, so I don't suppose it matters," Harry shrugged. Tom stopped on the street, staring at him.

"What? They fired you?"

"I quit," Harry smiled, without mirth. "Doesn't bother your game, does it?"

Tom's jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with a concealed rage so Harry assumed that it did bother him, before the young Dark Lord offered him a bright smile instead.

"Not at all. It'll be more fun playing when you're not all twisted up in lines of the Ministry's red tape." Then, in the same casual tone. "I mean, if you're going to get tied up, there's far more enjoyable ways of doing it."

Harry raised his brows, keeping his expression neutral.  
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you think that I was some blushing virgin who was going to get flustered by that insinuation?" he returned. "Should have taken your chance last time you had me strung up."

"Hmm. As lovely as you looked, I had other priorities," Tom said. "And I much prefer consent. Not that I couldn't have made you consent then."

"You think too highly of yourself."

"You were practically squirming already."

"You did the equivalent of drugging me. Consent doesn't count as consent if you start trying to get someone to beg before they said yes - just as I'm pretty sure making someone consent is an oxymoron. Not that it would have worked either way," Harry said, a little more stiffly.

Tom shrugged, before coming to a stop.  
"I'm going to assume you've apparated before. Hold on."

Riddle didn't wait for him to respond before spinning them on the spot.

Harry stumbled only marginally as they landed, swallowing down bile. He bloody hated Apparation - side along or not. It was worse than floo powder.

"Well," he said. "That's one way to put me off dinner. I mean, outside of your face."

* * *

There was champagne in expensive flutes, and a freaking lobster lasagna and for dessert a large selection of fruits (raspberries, blueberries, strawberries pomegranate and others, all covered and dipped in chocolate.)

Harry popped one rather happily in his mouth, trying not to think how horrendously expensive this all had to be.

The Restaurant was very classy, and they had a private table in the corner. With a candle. The candle was embarrassing. Thankfully there wasn't a bouquet of roses.

The conversation had gone surprisingly well, though that may have had something to do with how valiantly they both strode to not talk about the state of British Government and politics, Dark Lords, or anything so volatile. Still.

"Should I be commenting on the fact that everything on this menu is said to have aphrodisiac qualities?" Harry raised his brows, plucking up another strawberry.

Tom smirked back at him, with a shrug.

"You can comment on the matter if you want. It's not like I'm going to blush and deny intentions there."

The man took another sip of his Champagne, and Harry thought he should probably stop drinking his own. He felt less panicked and awkward now than he had at the beginning of the night at least.

As far as dates went, it really had been quite enjoyable. He sort of hated that.  
He gave a hum at the response.

"I'm pretty sure this counts as fraternizing with the enemy," he stated, after a moment.

"You're not an Auror anymore, it doesn't have to mean that," Tom countered, his expression growing more serious now. Harry refrained from swallowing uncomfortably.

"I don't agree with your views."

"You don't agree that those with magic should be able to openly express their talents and be proud of their heritage and not hide?" Tom raised his brows.

"I-well - that's not - I don't agree with Blood Purity and the fact you took out my ex-Girlfriend's eyes."

"Your eyes were and are too pretty to remove," Tom shrugged. "Something had to go."

"What, for your petty vengeance?" Harry spat, blood starting to boil. Tom looked at him, flatly.

"Petty?" he enquired, delicately. "You led me on."

"I never once said that night was going to mean anything," Harry hissed, fists clenching around his drink, good mood evaporating very quickly. "I was drunk. I was very obviously drunk, if anything, you bloody well took advantage of that and then, what...got upset that it wasn't a fairy-tale?"

Riddle looked like he could reach over and rip his guts out.

"So I mean nothing to you?" the other questioned, after a moment, very softly.  
Harry had a bad feeling, and the most inexplicable guilt. He shouldn't have to apologize about not being madly in love with the man! It wasn't like he had a choice in who he did or did not love.

Nonetheless, he treaded carefully with his words.

"I don't equate you with a long term romantic relationship and partner, no," he said.

"Why not?" Tom asked. Harry blinked. Riddle seemed honestly...confused by this.

"...you're manipulative, controlling, possessive, you kill people, and have killed my friends, you blackmail me, would go out of your way to hurt me-"

"-Only because you hurt me first."

He sounded...petulant, if anything.

"It's unhealthy. Don't you have a bunch of your little groupies dying to be your Cinderella or Prince Charming, or whatever your preference is."

"You."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're my preference," Tom clarified, calmly, eyes searing through him. Harry wetted his lips, mouth dry a little, before realising that had probably been a bad idea when Tom's gaze flicked down briefly to his lips. He took a careful sip of his drink.

"You don't know me-" he began, only to pause as Tom gave him a pitying look. "Okay, you stalked me so, you do know an alarming amount about me," he conceded, "and it's very, uh, flattering and all that, but I'm not, uh, gay."

"Neither am I."

"What? Bi?"

"Power."

Harry stared for several seconds.

"So go and develop a crush on Dumbledore," he said, after a moment. Tom raised a brow, and maybe Harry really was going insane because a second later he'd just cracked up at the strangeness of the conversation, chuckling. Tom's eyebrows raised further.

"Did I break you?" the other asked, sounding amused. "The thought of Dumbledore and I should not be amusing to you, you sick sick man, it should be genuinely horrifying and disturbing."

"Oh I'm not the sick one at this table," Harry snickered, before sobering. "Okay, not Dumbledore. Bad example. But...come on? You have to admit that getting off on the fact that you think I'm powerful isn't really a good core for a relationship. Even if I was inclined the same way, which I'm not."

"No, you're inclined to danger and projects and saving people, but restrict yourself in the confines of heterosexuality because of the way homosexuality is still viewed and because you think it makes it easier and makes you normal. It just makes you a liar."

Harry scowled.

"I think I know my own preferences better than you."

"So why the drunken experimentations if you're oh-so-straight?"

"I think the drunken tells you the answer there," Harry muttered, uncomfortably. Tom continued to stare at him, eyebrows rising. Harry drained the rest of his glass. "Just drop it, will you? Maybe I just don't fancy you. Ever considered that?"

"No, I try and take the logical explanations for things," Tom said. Harry snorted, figuring he was joking. He was joking, wasn't he? He didn't actually think it was impossible not to fancy him, right? He rolled his eyes and decided to take it as the former, if only for the sake of his sanity.

"How did we even get on this topic?"

"Now now, I know your short term memory isn't that abysmal," the other teased. Harry scowled further.

"Did I add 'insufferable' to controlling possessive bastard? I don't think I did - my mistake!"

"You say the sweetest things, you really do. I'm sure it's lovely, I just can't quite concentrate on it because all I see is your mouth moving and this vague sensation that you're saying something," Tom smirked. Harry huffed, and once again hated the fact he wanted to laugh, before he once again grew serious.

He also figured he shouldn't have drank the champagne so quickly.  
He'd already established a long time ago that alcohol and Tom didn't mix so well, and his head felt so pleasantly fuzzy from the sheer amount he'd drank tonight.

"Why are you doing this, Tom?" he asked, quietly.

"Because I think we could be amazing together and a date is generally the way one starts such a thing off?" Tom returned. Harry shook his head.

"Not the date. All of this. Blood Purity. Killing people. You used to be such a sweet kid."

"Oh god."

"No, but you did," Harry sat up straighter, brow furrowed. "What happened to you?"

"Harry, dear Harry," Tom sighed, sounding almost fond. "I was always like this. You know I killed the rabbit, for example. The only difference back then was that you were on my side, I just loved watching you try and protect me. It was adorable."

"How can you possibly be pissed off and accuse me of using you then?" Harry bit out, a little outraged. "You do nothing but lie to me."

"Are you telling me that back then, abandoned and lost in a shitty little orphanage in London, you didn't enjoy being needed?"

Harry opened his mouth, angrily, only for nothing to come out as the words registered. He swallowed.

"And what did you get out of it?"

"The feeling of being loved?"

"...I need more champagne."

* * *

They were back in London, and Harry didn't know if Tom had been honest in that conversation, or if it was just more manipulation, but he couldn't get the words out of his head.

This was the strangest date he'd ever been on.  
And that included one with Cho Chang.

Tom, the git, still had that content air around him, though it was starting to fade, and Harry tried to ignore that the fingers entwined around his own was starting to edge onto the painful side of tight.

"What are you planning to do now?" Riddle asked, softly.  
Harry gave him a look.

"You think I'll answer that, really?"

"Hmm," Tom hummed. "I'll assume that to mean generally attempting to sabotage my cause then."

He probably wasn't wrong.

They came to a stop outside of Harry's safe house which probably wasn't so safe now. He should definitely move.

Every single bit of awkwardness came crashing back down.

"This is the bit where you say something annoying that smooths stuff over, you're a politician aren't you?" Harry grumbled, before shaking his head. "Well, it's been...interesting."

"Not the worst date ever?"

"Surprisingly not."

"Wow, see that there is almost an 'I love you' coming from you," Tom drawled.

"Yeah, keep working on that theory," Harry replied. Tom's head tilted.

"Can I kiss you?" the Slytherin asked.

Harry blinked.  
"Because that's not awkward."

"Shut up."

"That's not very polite."

"You were supposed to say 'make me'," Tom said dryly. Harry rolled his eyes, and definitely didn't grin.

"This is really messed up. I'm going to need therapy-mmph."  
Lips crushed against his, soft and simultaneously unyielding, and fingers clenched in his hair, tilting his head up.

It wasn't a long kiss, slow or passionate enough to leave them panting for air, but it burned against his lips all the same. And shut him up.

Tom pulled back, watching him carefully, a gleam in his eye, fingers slowly slipping out of his hair, ghosting across his cheek and back to its owner.

He wetted his lips, a taste of champagne and chocolate lingering there, staring at the young Dark Lord for a moment.

"I'm not going to invite you in." It was very quiet.

Tom merely smirked back at him.

"I'd make sure you're packed and out of the flat by the morning, if I were you, enemy of mine."  
Then he disapparated and was gone.

"Bring it on..."

* * *

_A/N: I guess you could now say the proper story begins, haha? :) I hope you liked it and that you are not crushed with disappointment by the date. Though I'm sure you'd all be gutted to know that in an alternate draft Tom did get invited in :P _


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